


Half Of My Hometown

by Mileycfan4eva



Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: Childhood, Childhood Memories, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:00:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28485000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mileycfan4eva/pseuds/Mileycfan4eva
Summary: In order to find her true love Sylvie must venture out of her childhood hometown to find her place in this world. Will Matt's broken heart be healed by the arrival of 51's newest paramedic? Will Matt and Shay and Kelly ever forgive themselves?
Relationships: Sylvie Brett/Matthew Casey
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

Fandom: Chicago Fire

Title: Half Of My Hometown

Chapter 1: Country Story

P O V: Sylvie Brett

A/N: Chicago Fire belongs to NBC and the creators. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed favored or followed. This fic takes place back in 2014 but instead of Shay being killed it's Gabby. If anyone has a woman they want Shay paired with as a romantic partner review or tweet me Mileycfan4eva

St Francis of Assisi Church Graveyard

Folwerton, Indiana

May 18th 2014

"The thin blue line is a symbolic quote when people hear it, everyone knows it represents the common brotherhood of brothers and sisters of the police department, Yes this is 2014, and we actually allow women on the forces, go figure."

Inside I am boiling at my chief's words; no one could tell by merely looking at me. On the outside, I am cool as a cucumber, a ridged posture a stony expression on my face; some would call it the resting bitch face as I stand with my fellow firefighters and paramedics as our chief Dave Byon stands at the podium graveside. I'm doing the best I can to keep my emotions in check. My heart rate has increased instead of the usual thump- thump which a heart is supposed to beat, mine is now a bang-convulse- throb. I feel the heat rushing to swell in my face, pain tightening inside my chest.

I was born with Cystic Fibrosis; living with CF feels as if I have a rattlesnake inside my chest; every breath I take leaves me shaking, coughing, sweating the damn snake hisses out of my mouth as I cough and wheeze, feeling the snake's teeth sink into my lungs. Preventing my damn lungs from fully expanding, I am left shaking, seeing stars as I fight desperately not to pass out; I dig my nails into my thighs.

Holding in this anger is causing additional pain to soar through my chest; the rattlesnake's entire family is invading my lungs. Mama and Papa snakes have each lung while their kids each take residence up inside the lungs, sinking their teeth into my lungs, releasing their venom.

Most people describe living with CF as trying to breathe through a straw; I feel as if it's worse than a thinned out straw lining; CF feels as if I am living in a tunnel of perpetual darkness with both the exit and entrance blocked by large boulders. They trap the air inside my lungs, unable to vent anywhere, becoming stale dangerous the way too much carbon dioxide is when it's inside a house.

The gasses mix with my anger in a deadly twisted dance of compounds, so basically, right now, I am fucking volcano ready to explode lava all over the damn place. Women won the right to vote in 1920; in 1964, title VII of the civil rights act passed, prohibiting sex discrimination in the workplace. In 1972 Dianne Rechle became the first female paramedic in the USA. For nearly 200 years, women have been fighting fire's Molly Williams was a member of Engine Company #11 in 1815, somehow though, according to Chief Dave, women serving in the fire department is infuriating.

Part of me is furious, humiliated. I am blinded by my emotions all my working life I've had to worry about the perception of being a woman in a rigorous and fast-paced environment as Emergency Medical Services. Even in a small town like Fowlerton, Indiana. Everyone here knows your business every mistake I made; every infraction ever brought to they spread my folder around as Sunday's hottest gossip.

I'm sexually harassed; they make jokes at my expense every shift; rumors fly every time I get praised by a higher outside of this firehouse. I've had to fight for my place to prove I can keep up with the guys, and every-time, they expect me to pay them with sexual favors as if they did me a favor by allowing me to serve with them. When I refuse, and I refuse every damn time because I am not some country whore willing to sell her body to get ahead, it's as if I insulted their little pea-sized dicks straight through their over-sized ego.

Life is hell for me when one gets too drunk and too grabby. I run circles around my lazy dumb-ass partner every day, yet it'll never matter cause as long as Dave is on the realm, I will never get the credit or the promotions. Unless I will sleep my way to the top, and I will slice off my right breast before I ever do that. Ever.

Apparently, being a woman in a hypocritical small town isn't enough for me nope, God decided I needed a more significant damn challenge, so he blessed me with CF; a disease is still not understood by many important people like the people in charge of the Cognitive Exam which I needed to get my certification to become a paramedic. In their uneducated minds, I wasn't strong enough to be a paramedic; it didn't matter that I passed all the written tests, all the drills, and field excises with flying colors. I got the top grades in my class, worked longer hours, skipped meals so I could keep up with anyone else in my class. These people who didn't know me classify me as different, so I wasn't cut out for being a paramedic in their minds. Never mind the fact I know more about medicine than they ever will in their pathetic lifetimes.

Welcome To My Hometown.

People have wondered for years why I want to leave Folwerton and explore other cities, to find diversity and acceptance. To most people in this small town, it's unimaginable wishing to live anywhere else. Folwerton's population as of 2010 was two-hundred and twenty-one families. Generation after generations of families have made their homes here. Mine is no exception to that rule. My family helped build this town into what it is today.

My family's farm dates back to my fourth great grandfather on my dad's side Maxwell Benjamin Brett. He built this farm in 1895. He started farming wheat, soybeans, and tomatoes. As the generations have come and gone, we've added more and more products. Now we farm dairy, pork, beef, and many vegetables. We jar our own jams, relishes, fruits, and make our own wine.

My mom's fourth-generation great grandfather built the first train station here in Folwerton. To this day, it is the busiest place here in this town. My mom's fourth-generation grandmother and her family built the first general store in 1898. Now the store had multiplied into a chain all over Indiana.

The women in my family have always been ambitious, fierce, so it's no wonder I have the fire gene in my family; adopted or not, I grew up being taught by some of the boldest and bravest women in this town. You wouldn't know I am adopted by looking at us when we are together. I look very similar to my parents. Same blond hair and piercing cyan blue eyes, we're close in height and weight, our sense of humor is the same.

My two adopted brothers Sparrow and Swayzee never got treated any differently than our brothers, who our parents had naturally, Arrow and Abner. Except we were different in one preeminent way.

The three of us were born with a disease called Cystic Fibrosis. The three of us aren't related to each other in any way at all. I came first on June 30th, 1988, in sunny Palm Springs, California, at 12:03 am. I never knew until recently who my birth parents were or why I was given up; all I knew was that I started off life by being abounded in a hospital.

My adoptive parents got the call a few days after my birth. I was taken home to Indiana, a healthy, happy baby girl weighing seven pounds and 3/4 ounces, eighteen inches. In August, two months later, the agency they were using called because they had a baby boy about to be born in Boca Raton, Florida. Sparrow was so small, four pounds and six ounces sixteen inches, he was premature by three months born to a crack-addicted mother. Sparrow wasn't excepted to survive; he was hooked to every machine possible the nurses tried to discourage my parents from adopting him because he was so sickly.

My parents never gave up on Sparrow; they temporarily moved us down to Florida to be by his side, spending every day holding his hands, feeding him when allowed, cuddling him when he was strong enough. They were amazed by his strength, his fight for life, and his sight for little details; he didn't want to be shoved into the middle of the NICU; he always wanted to be at the aisle so everyone could see him, pay attention. My parents named him Sparrow Casey Brett. Sparrow is of Anglo-Saxon origin and means little bird, while Casey is Irish and means brave in battle. Sparrow was a tiny little fighter unafraid to fight for what he wanted, which right then was life.

Sparrow lived we took him home in November; two days after we got home, the agency called with another baby boy born in Indianapolis; he was also small but not premature, weighing only six pounds five ounces seventeen inches. Mom declared him to be the cutest baby in the world; the minute he saw her, he smiled and cooed at her, so she chose a unique name only one town in the world is named Swayzee and now only one baby. Swayzee Christian Brett joined our family on November 16th, 1988.

Almost immediately after being home and settling into a routine, mom noticed that something wasn't right with the three of us; we were slow to gain weight even though we ate; we had abnormal stools, and everything went through us. The three of us all had salty-tasting skin and were continually coughing and wheezing. The local doctors all agreed it wasn't anything serious it was just failure to thrive, a condition that affects many newborns and eases over time.

Our dad Zachariah seemed convinced that these doctors, who he has known his whole life, were right; after all, he was the luckiest man ever; he had his two perfect sons and beautiful baby girl, nothing would ever be seriously wrong with his babies. So they tried spacing out our meals, changing formulas, holding us in different ways, and avoiding empty calories. Talking and playing with each of us together and separate, giving us baths where they played games, hugging us and tickling us. Anything to make us feel loved and safe, which would encourage us to eat.

The breaking straw came when I was six months old. I vomited after nursing, and after three feedings of the same outcome, my tiny belly had swelled to the point where our mom Avery was afraid my skin would split. A scan revealed that my small intestine was obstructed; they airlifted me to Indianapolis Children's Hospital; they rushed me to surgery to clear the obstruction. Two days later, I was diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis, a disease that affects my respiratory and digestive systems.

As a precaution, since we all expedited the same symptoms, mom demanded Swayzee and Sparrow be tested as well; doctors thought it was doubtful all three of us had the same illness since we weren't related by blood. Mom wouldn't quit though she felt something was wrong, and she went with her gut, which paid off. One doctor believed her and performed the tests. A few days later, they learned the truth all three of us had CF.

Doctors didn't expect us to live past our teens, but we did; we thrived in finding our own passions, loves, and talents. Mom and dad had difficulty accepting the truth, but they never gave up researching, loving, and encouraging us. Mom became our biggest champion finding the newest treatments and researching the best doctors.

Growing up, the three of us were inseparable only a few months apart. We were in the same grade, classes not unusual in a small town, anyway. We played baseball because Fowlerton didn't have a softball team; any girls who wanted to play had to do so on the co-ed team and fight harder than the boys. We took music lessons, dance lessons, we worked on the farm together, splitting up chores.

We helped out at our family's restaurant; our Aunt owns Folwerton Diner, the most popular diner in Folwerton oh and the only diner. The three of us and our three cousins Derrick, Ryan, and Monica, practically ran the place. We even worked the register showing people to their seats, fetching condiments, and bringing out food. Everyone knew us, and everyone loved us; my brothers were my best friends, my partners in crime, everyone called us the Brett triplets. Blond hair blue eyed little devils who you couldn't help but love.

We were eight-years-old when our mom Avery discovered she was pregnant, a miracle which she never thought she would experience; our parents were ecstatic, and we were scared; having CF takes a lot of work. On average, our parents spent 2 to 3 hours each day going through our treatment regimen; we need therapy twice a day to help clear our airways, sometimes four of five if we were sick. Plus the medications we take to help our enzymes and breathing. We each made frequent trips to the hospitals at least four times a month. We were often hospitalized overnight or for weeks at a time while we adjusted to new medications and managed infections. Our new brother Arrow was born perfectly healthy, so of course, we worried we would become a burden on our parents why keep us when they had a perfect baby.

Lucky for us, our parents knew us well enough to know what we were feeling, and they took time to make sure we each knew we were loved individually and together; they chose us; they loved us, and they would never leave us. We took family camping trips; we learned how to make a fire, look for the stars to find our way at night, and follow the river. Dad taught us how to play guitar, ride a horse, while mom taught us how to sing and cook. They made sure we had a happy childhood and weren't treated any differently than Arrow or our other brother Abner when he came along two years later.

We were different, though, and we knew most kids don't spend days or weeks hospitalized attached to machines to help them breathe. Or watching friends die before they have time to live. The disease helped create a powerful bond between us, and in some ways, made life easier for us; we supported each other; we knew how we each felt. I could always tell when one of my brothers was sick and hiding it or feeling a certain way. Being the oldest, I thought it was my job to protect them and help our parents, who were trying to manage the farm and raising five kids, three with special needs. For the longest time, Sparrow needed a G-Tube to help him get the nutrients he needed to survive. I learned how to clean it, change it, and feed Sparrow through it.

Having CF made us feel isolated. Other kids made fun of us or refused to play with us when we were younger. We couldn't be near other CF kids in the hospital or support groups, unlike kids with other illnesses. We carry bacteria in our lungs that can be harmful to each other. With the ever-present danger of cross-infection, even when one of us was sick, we had to be separated, but we were always around to do a little dance, sing a song, or do some silly makeup child-game to keep the sick one hoping and remembering they are loved.

My organizational skills would put an efficiency expert to shame. When I was 7, I took it upon myself to take on the job of managing our cystic fibrosis by preparing and administering mine and my brother;'s medications, therapies, and gastrostomy tube feedings. When Swayzee was ten, they diagnosed him with diabetes; I added daily glucose monitoring and insulin shots to our schedule. So our parents could Focus on the Family businesses and just being parents to five kids.

I wasn't blessed with sisters, so I thought I would escape the drama of fighting over the same boys, the fight my best friend Hope always had with her sister Faith. I was wrong. God must laugh up in heaven cause when we were fifteen, Sparrow came out to me, and of course, my twin-my mini-me liked the same damn boy I liked.

I smile now as I remember the epic fight at the homecoming junior year 2004. They voted me homecoming queen, and Ryan Lee McQueen was homecoming king. Damn was he ever so cute Sparrow was so in love with this boy he locked me in the school locker room after cheer-leading practice on the day of the dance. He stole my dress and burned it; by the time I got out of the locker room, I had to crawl through a vent, which sent me into a coughing fit and nearly made me blackout. I had to run all the way home in the pouring rain. By the time I got home, I was exhausted and pissed.

Sparrow denied all of it to mom and dad, who of course believed him because he was the family's golden boy, mom wouldn't buy me a new dress because she blamed me for losing it, so I had to borrow a vintage dress from her closet. I was so mad I waited till he was downstairs getting his CPT, what we call our chest physical therapy. I took his makeup and put itching powder in it along with his jocks. Then I siphoned the gas from the car he shared with Swayzee, who wasn't going since he declared dances lame; I had my own car since I worked part-time, something their lazy-asses didn't do.

By the time he got to the dance, it was halfway through. I was dancing with Ryan mid-court Sparrow marches right up to the stage, grabbed the mic from the speaker, and announced to the whole Gym I had my menstrual cycle, which I didn't, but it silenced the entire room; all eyes turned to me. I was so embarrassed that I started crying, which only made kids laugh louder Hope ran onto the stage in my defense, grabbed the Mic from Sparrow, and announced he was only jealous because he was Gay and liked Ryan.

No one knew what to say or do until Sparrow turned to me and slapped me. We had the biggest fight because he viewed me telling Hope as a betrayal. I hit him back, and we started fighting in the middle of the Gym until teachers pulled us apart, screaming and kicking. They called our parents, and they expelled us from the dance and suspended from school for a week. Swayzee declared us the two-dumbest species on earth, and he was ashamed to be our brother.

Neither one of us would speak to each other the entire week until that Friday night. I was so upset from missing the football game; I was crying alone in my room when I heard Swayzee's best friend John scream for me they had been in back shooting targets when he collapsed. I rushed outside to find my brother unresponsive, blue in his face and not breathing. I performed CPR and called 911, but by the time the Ambulance got to my place, it was too late; my brother was gone.

We later learned at the hospital that Swayzee hadn't been following his diet properly he had been trying to get his weight up for a wrestling competition, so he was eating foods he shouldn't have been eating, skipping his injections. His heart couldn't take it, and somehow I missed it. I blamed myself, but Sparrow was right by my side, reassuring me I was the best sister, and I kept him and Swayzee alive all these years; Swayzee chose to lie and take risks with his health.

We decided Swayzee was the dumbest species on God's earth, and we were both pissed at him for being so judgmental and stupid and, oh yeah, for dying on us and leaving us. We made a vow never to fight again, and we didn't for ten years we kept the peace. Up until last Friday night, when I told Sparrow I wanted to move to Chicago, I needed a fresh start. After being left at the alter by my fiancee Harrison. No one understands how I can even think about leaving our town. People here are born here, grow up here, and raise their kids here generation after generation. Leaving isn't an option, but I'll never be able to put it into words; there is a yearning inside me that is calling me to do more.

I always wanted to travel and see the world experience different cultures and lifestyles. I enjoy adventures I want to learn other languages. I love my town, I love my family, and yes, it is scary to think about leaving, but I can't stay stuck in one place. I know I have it in me to live on my own in a big city, to make it as a paramedic out there. Yes, it'll be different, but I know it would be so rewarding.

Sparrow didn't see it that way; we had an epic fight the last words I said to my brother right before he raced into a burning building was it should have been you, not Swayzee, who died.

Six of our guys went into that building; only five came out alive. I can still hear my brother's screams when I sleep if I get to sleep.

How I am now staying so calm and put together at my brother's services is beyond me, it draws my attention back front to Dave, who is finishing up his speech none of it has to do with my brother as an individual.

"The Thin Red Line of Courage represents the last ounce of courage firefighters find deep in their blood to conquer their darkest fears to save and protect life and property. Today we honor our fallen brother Sparrow Casey Brett." "Sparrow died doing his job a job he loved a job which put him in a high-risk category as a CF patient. Sparrow never let that fear or any limitation stop him, so with great sadness weighing heavy on our hearts we proudly raise the flag and signal the bells to honor our fallen brother."

"To honor Sparrow now, I call upon Sparrow's best friend Captain Paxton Davis Brice JR of truck 27." Lies, I was Sparrow's best friend. Paxton is a complete prick who picked on both of us daily; he hated us and felt we were a waste of time; Paxton didn't think we could do our jobs. He was always trying to prove that we weren't capable of performing our duties; we had extra exercises, drills compared to his other men.

Paxton has a drinking issue, and when he gets drunk, he gets very perverted; one night, he tried to force himself on me, which lead to Sparrow knocking him out. No one believed me when I reported him, and nothing was ever done. Our chief didn't discipline Sparrow, thank God, but Paxton always held it against him, and Sparrow still had my back. He never let Paxton anywhere near me, which only pissed Paxton off more.

I tune out of his speech; it's all lies, anyway; he didn't know the first thing about my brother, how could he? Paxton never tried to get to know him or me. He looked at Sparrow as a waste of space and me like a piece of meat he can devour. Instead I focus on the phone call I made earlier this week, my mind wanders to the Paramedic Field Chief in Chicago, a guy named Karl Hatcher; he seemed genuine and very interested in joining the CPD, which gives me hope soon I will be out of here.

Paxton's eyes on me now bring me back to the present time; what a creep even at a funeral is trying to get laid. "Sylvie Brett, a paramedic at house 27, and Sparrow's sister, is here to say a few words."

I salute Paxton but not with the finger I want to gritting my teeth and holding my emotions in check I step forward, I take a deep breath, not a simple thing for me to do either. Paxton leers at me, grinning a stomach twisting grin as I sidestep past him since he isn't moving at all. I feel his hand cup my butt and squeeze it as I slide past; biting my lip hard, I urge myself not to cry or turn around and punch him. Part of me feels as if I am in a dream-like state; the world has stopped; nothing makes any sense. I know I have to speak; my brother deserves it; he deserved the world. Though, all I want to do is curl up inside my bed and cry; why did God take away my only person who understood how I feel?

"Thank you, everyone, for coming out here to support my brother, my family; this is a tough time for us. Many of you remember being here for my brother Swayzee only ten years ago." My eyes lock with my parents Avery and Zach, who sit in the front row with my brothers Arrow, a twenty-year-old and seventeen-year-old Abner. Mom has tears in her eyes, which she is trying to wipe away silently; my dad's arms are around her shoulders. A stoic look of shock on his face as he stares up ahead, his eyes connecting with mine, giving me a wordless message he believes in me, he loves me. This is all I need to keep going.

Taking a moment, I close my eyes, trying to will my lungs not to seize and coughing. "People think we become Paramedics and firefighters because we are fearless, but their wrong becoming fearless isn't the point. That's impossible. It's learning how to control your fear & how to be free from it; that's the point. The necessity of action takes away the fear of the act; we didn't become fearless because we were born without fear or because we had to face our illness, we embraced the fear and used it to motivate us. We knew choosing these careers put us at a higher chance of an earlier death, and yes, it made us afraid. True courage is being afraid and going ahead and doing your job anyhow. That's what courage is. My brother lived every day of his life with honest courage."

"I have always said you will never truly live until you almost die, and for those of us who fought, life has a special flavor the protected will never know. Today when we fold the Flag, when we lower my brother into the ground, we will not bury his spirit; his spirit will forever live with all of us who have loved him; I ask you instead of mourning that my brother died, celebrate the fact he lived a life filled with love and bravery."

"There's a saying in every firehouse that everyone goes home, today God has called Sparrow home so home he must fly on wings of hope and grace, saying goodbye is hard but it is what God has asked us to do loss is a part of life, but that doesn't make it any easier. The death of loved ones often takes its toll on those left behind, and it can feel like grief is never ending. Jesus has said, "I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this? I do, and so did my brother; therefore, he hasn't truly died. I bet right now he is in heaven watching over all of us shaking his head; he wouldn't want us to be sad, he would want us to celebrate to go to Sacrifices Bar and have a pint in his memory he would want us to talk about that one touchdown of 2002, the one where he was the town's hero."

"So join me today after the service to raise a toast to my brother, my best friend, for he is not dead; he is with me today and always. So will it be with the resurrection of the dead. The body that is sown is perishable, it is raised imperishable; it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; and it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body. If there is a natural body, there is also a spiritual body. Help me celebrate Sparrow's spirit, a spirit that never stopped hoping and dreaming even as our bodies got weaker."

"Many of you remember when Sparrow announced he wanted to be a firefighter, sophomore year at the end of the year banquet ceremony. When Evan Josiah Evansfeild told him he only dated firefighters, not high school boys, he swore he would become a firefighter just, so he had a shot at hottie Evan. Many of you don't know that his dream of being a firefighter didn't start there; it wasn't a prank or a way to earn his crush's attention. No, my brother's dream began when we were seven-years-old and hospitalized for a lung infection. We were in Chicago bouncing around to doctors trying to find the right one, who offered the best treatment."

"Children's hospitals like to keep hope alive they try to keep us inspired and help us aspire. No profession is more inspiring and aspiring than a firefighter. So this hospital asked a local firefighter to come by and talk to us; this kind man took time out of his day to speak to us, make balloon animals with the younger kids, and answer questions; he told us stories about rescues he made. His stories inspired my brother from the first time Lieutenant Benny Severide opened his mouth. It sold my brother on being a firefighter."

"Please welcome my brother's hero and family friend Lt. Benny Severide." the man who inspired my brother comes to stand beside me, nodding before he turns to speak. "He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death' or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away. There has been a lot of talk about hero's here today, but to me, I think a hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure despite overwhelming obstacles. Real heroes are men who fall and fail and are flawed but win out because they've stayed true to their ideals and beliefs and commitments. Through the smoke, the fear the pain Sparrow stayed true to his inner spirit now his spirit flies free."

"Detail attention!" Every one of us salutes "Present arms!" the guns and flag rise a twenty-one gun salute is fired tears slide down my face as the bagpipes play. My chest feels tight as it hits me. I will never again serve alongside my brother; I will never hear his voice or feel his hugs.

"This is the last call for Lieutenant Sparrow Casey Brett. By this, we know love, that Sparrow laid down his life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for the brothers and sisters. Sparrow has served the citizens of Fowlerton, Indiana, and Grant County for Seven years. We appreciate Sparrow's dedication and his family's sacrifices for the years Sparrow Casey Brett was a Firefighter. Now we release him to live free with our Lord above. This is the last call for Lieutenant Sparrow Casey Brett."

The bugle plays as my tears flow my brother, my best friend, is gone forever; I'm not sure how I am supposed to cope with this, how I am supposed to keep going in a firehouse where I don't feel safe and in a town that doesn't accept me as a female paramedic. Under my parent's watchful paranoid eyes, that my brother's fate will become mine.

"Sylvie." looking up from my beer later that night, I see the kind eyes of my brother's boyfriend Evan Josiah Evansfeild as he slides beside me at the bar counter, hand on my shoulder. "Sparrow was so proud of you, sweetie, never forget that I know he was mad about you wanting to move to Chicago, but he was not proud. In time he would have come around and told you this himself."

"Will never know now, will we, Evan." "I already know, baby, I know." "Look at me, Sylvie, and listen to me when I tell you Sparrow's love for you was unconditional. He wasn't mad at you for wanting your own life, and he wasn't scared you would get overwhelmed; he was worried you would love living on your own in Chicago so much that you would never want to come back."

"You're moving to Chicago?" Benny comes up behind me as Evan taps me on the back, and we get up. "Not yet, Benny, but I have a call into a Chief Hatcher; I want a change. I guess I will see if they call me back. Thank you so much for coming here today; it would have meant the world to my brother."

"Sylvie, of course, your brother was a remarkable young man; I nicknamed him Aidan for a reason, remember that." I smile, remembering how Sparrow buzzed for weeks in excitement at the nickname, which means little fire. "Yes, I remember, Sir."

"Good Luck, Sylvie; if you get to Chicago, don't forget to look me up; I would love to catch up. For the record, I think you would amaze everyone in Chicago; we would be lucky to have a talented, beautiful, passionate, hard worker like yourself, Sylvie."

Tipping my cowboy hat at Benny, I squeeze his hand as I turn to leave some money for the pint, but the bartender Clover Jean shakes her head. "girl, you are not paying for anything not today." I smile sadly, following Evan out of the bar packed with well-wishers, many of whom approach me as we weave our way through the crowd towards the door, only to be stopped by people offering their condolences. "I'm so sorry, Sylvie. Your brother was amazing."

"Sylvie, my deepest sympathies."

"I'm so sorry for your loss."

"You're in my thoughts and prayers."

"We'll all miss him very much."

"I have such fond memories of your brother; we were such trouble makers in school. Did he ever tell you about the time…

I smile politely at Knox's Rollins, one of our classmates, as I grab Evan's hand, allowing him to pull me through the crowd. "No, you didn't. I will love to hear about it if you excuse me right now, though." I'm halfway through the crowd when Kara Lang grabs my hand, tears running down her face. "I'll always remember him as one of the nicest people I knew." the same bitch that spit in my brother's face when he asked her to be his date in eighth grade. I roll my eyes at her fake sympathy, pretending I don't even hear her, which isn't too hard since the music is blaring.

"Sylvie." Pastor McKenna stops me bowing his head, grabbing my hands. "I am so sorry. I know the loss of your brother is inconceivable. Sparrow was such a great mentor to all the new people in the community."

I can't take all the well wishes right now, so I shove my way past everyone; my chest is aching for air not just because the bar is smokey and scented with strong alcoholic odors, but all the sympathy, fake and real, is just too much right now. The whole town has turned up to celebrate my brother's life. Half the damn town is already drunk, toasting to Sparrow as if he ever drank, which he didn't. We aren't suppose to drink any form of alcohol it may aggravate or intensify health conditions common to people with CF, such as dehydration, osteoporosis, and liver disease. Drinking alcohol can increase the likelihood of pancreatitis, a painful inflammation of the pancreas. Tonight I need a few drinks though or I won't make it through.

Evan takes my hand as we walk down the street, which is lit by the hundreds of red and gold lights lit in honor of Sparrow and our High School football team, the Argylls, who are gearing up for the new season. There are so many people they spill out of the bar; as soon as I pass, they raise glasses in honor of Sparrow.

"Most people can never imagine leaving Folwerton Sylvie; you know this. As fearless as Sparrow was, he was a homeboy; he loved Folwerton, he was afraid if he tried to start over somewhere, he wouldn't be accepted, or he wouldn't cut it as a firefighter. People here all knew about his illness, and those who encouraged and accepted him outnumbered those who made fun of him or doubted." I nod as I follow Evan a little further out past the town circle. The air is crisp, the moonlight clear and beautiful, the stars shine so brightly I can see everyone. "Sparrow envied your fearlessness always has."

"What do you mean? I am not fearless; surely, you remember the great wipe-out of 1998."

Laughing, Evan slaps my back as we turn onto the dirt road leading to the spot where half the kids go to make out in their daddy's fords. Cars line the area since it is such a beautiful night; many have the trucks open and are drinking and blasting music. Tonight it's not just teens; many of the town folks are out; more than half have the American Flag hanging from the back of their flatbeds.

"Yes, when you challenged Katie McGuire to an ATV race, and you wet your pants in fear."

"She was a huge ten-year-old!" "Yes, she was; that's cuz her daddy spiked her cereal with steroids." "What?" I laugh out loud as Evan rolls his eyes. "anyway, the point is as scared as you were, you didn't back down Sylvie you went right into the race full throttle, and you didn't stop; you looked Katie right in her eyes and said you're going down."

"Yeah, and she creamed me! I ate dirt for weeks!"

"You didn't quit, though, Sylvie; you stayed on that ATV even as she knocked you off; you clung to the handles and let it drag you through till the finish line." "Yeah, I did. I guess you're right; that was pretty ballsy." "Girl, no, let's not get it twisted; I got balls, you got guts." "Share the balls, man, don't hog them all; girls can have as many balls as guys,"

"Whatever girl in your dreams. Anyway, my point is it's easy to get stuck in this town every place has a memory a song attached to it, very quickly we can lose focus on our dreams and get stuck on repeat this town if we let it can become the soundtrack of our lives. We can let it define us argue that we can't leave because our family, friends are here. Or we can look around and realize we want more than this." Evan waves his hands around to downtown Fowlerton with buildings so old many are condemned have paint falling off, broken signs, or missing steps.

"Tradition has plagued this town for generation after generation, Sylvie, only now are things changing; look around and see the differences." my eyes scan the area as we keep walking. "Half the town is the older generation dressed for Church still wearing black from today's services; they didn't get it when we said celebrate not mourn. Their view has always will be very southern, and southerners have a literal understanding of heaven and hell. Death is not abstract. Ministers talk about it, preach about it. Eternal life, going to heaven and being with Jesus, and living in God's kingdom. The older generation embraces death, Sylvie; they accept it as a part of life, but in their view, death is to be mourned; the families are to be buried in food, food, and more food! Sure they all want to know what they can do to help, how are you holding up dear, but no one wants to know the answer. They ask cause it's tradition, and Lord knows tradition matters down here."

"Yeah, I guess, Evan." "Bae, oh honey, don't guess, look around. I mean look around, my love." turning, I take everything in as I sip the beer someone has just handed me; I never even see who it is, only the outline of a back quickly slipping into the crowd. I tip my cowboy hat towards their end, and someone else raises their glass towards me. "Everyone has a country song Sylvie, a story they can tell which ties them to this town and signals them out as a country. We all have a small town anthem look past the older generation dressed in their Church clothes and see the younger generation all who were here at the same services. See the differences?"

I do, and I let it sink in the younger generation dressed the same way as Evan and I are jeans, flannel shirts, crop tops, mini-skirts, and cowboy boots with hats. While the older generation is mainly sitting quietly at tables chatting to each other sipping sweet tea, they smile sadly when they see me. Blow kisses or shake their heads covering their mouths as if the sheer power of the words I'm sorry become too much even to pass their lips.

The younger generation well we're dancing in the streets to the music that fills the town from bars and street performers. They sit in the back of pickup trucks, raising their glasses as we pass; football games are going on in the parking lots; life is a party to them; life is a celebration.

The street lights bled out gold and red, the school colors also the colors our firefighters wear. "Raise your glasses, everyone!" Scott Lane's voice fills the air "To Sparrow, our unlikely hero who saved the game of '02! That touchdown, man, that shit was legendary!" "To Sparrow!" Everyone who was old enough to remember the fall of 2002 raises their glasses, cheering as I pass; my glass is clicked and clattered as I pass through the thick of the town's red and gold bleeding hearts.

"Seriously, Sylvie, this is the shit I am talking about; I mean, I am all for school spirit and supporting our youth, but Madison-Grant High has one of the best football teams in the whole county Jaxson Dart a senior this year, has 4691 passing yards. Creed Walters has 189 tackles; the school is undefeated as they are every year. Are they talking that the team won state again for the fifth year in a row? Nope, they are still talking about one touchdown from over ten-years-ago. It was phenomenal and should be remembered, but damn girl, they act like it never happened before."

"Well, in Scott's defense, he was the QB; he was supposed to be the one out on the field hauling the team's ass to victory, but his stupid ass went and got drunk the night before and got caught driving in Fairmount. The sheriff there didn't care that he was the famous Scott Lane of the Fowlerton Argyll's due at the high School game the next night."

"So they put sparrow into the game as a last-minute sub." I smile and laugh, sipping my beer, remembering the night so vividly it brings back the roar of the crowd, the taste of cotton candy on my lips from my lip-gloss. The smell of burning rubber from the victory laps the team did in our pickup trucks, the look of victory and accomplishment on Sparrow's face as the team lifted him on their shoulders, the fans rushing the field. Sparrow, who the doctors had told would never play contact sports because it was too strenuous for his system. Now for one-night, the hometown football hero.

"The town had hated Scott. They were so mad thinking he had cost them the game; when Sparrow won the touchdown that sealed our victory, Scott treated Sparrow as if he was an Ancient God; he worshiped your brother. Sylvie."

"Yeah, I remember Evan. I was there too."

"Oh, yes, girl, I remember I believe the phrase you wrote in your diary was. OMG, Scott Lane is so adorable, I just want to lick his creamy face like an ice cream cone. Oh Lord, he makes my knees weak."

Gasping out, I shove him hard, laughing as tears fall down my face; my stomach hurts from watching Evan flip his wrist as he bats his eyelashes, pretending to be me as a teenager. "I did not liar!"

"So not lying, Sylvie, you wrote in that thing as if you were writing your own life through country songs. Scott was your high school dream boy even hotter than Ryan; you got your ass drunk on Vodka, tequila, and smoked weed just to impress him! You changed who you are for that dumb-ass boy."

"Oh, don't be so bitter just because he isn't into boys, and he was so into me. You can't have every boy you want; you must leave some balls for me. I have needs too, you know." I bump my hip with Evan laughing as he gives me a death look. "So you know bitch I can have any pair of balls I want; I just felt sorry for your lame ass cause you were the town goody-good girl with the brothers who would be the living shit out of any boy who so much as looked at your ass."

"Seriously, they threatened that?" "oh, Girl, tell me you didn't know that." "NO! I didn't!" Evan laughs, nearly falling over into a garbage can. "Oh Lord, you are killing me Sylvie, you are so young and naïve back then. Sparrow and Arrow beat the fear into every boy in our school about what they would do to any boy who touched you. They used every bible verse possible."

I gasp loudly, chugging back a few sips; this so explains why I couldn't get laid Friday nights for my life. "Bastards." I hiss out, causing Evan to laugh so hard we have to stop. He's holding his stomach howling. Slapping his leg as he keeps looking up at me, my anger is burning through my chest, making me cough hard. I thought it was because I was unlovable throughout high school that I couldn't measure up to the normal girls who didn't have their height or chest development stopped because of Cystic Fibrosis, who didn't taste salty when kissed. Girls who could normally eat without pills, who didn't get hospitalized three or four times a year and didn't have to worry about dying.

Girls who were beautiful, funny, skinny but in a healthy way, everything I felt I wasn't now I find out because my stupid brothers were playing Rambo. "I slept with Scott too!" "Oh, I know Sparrow heard him bragging about it and went to Pastor McKenna, who went to Scott's parents. They dragged his ass out of town and put him in military school."

"Yeah, I remember half the damn town still talks about how the star QB moved away mid-junior year. Uh, I swear I would kill Sparrow if he weren't…"

My rant stops mid-sentence as it hits me again; my brother is gone; it hits me so hard my world becomes a blur of black dancing spots and hot white flashes. Noises fade around me; all I hear is the thundering inside my ears. As the world fades back into existence and my nerves realize what's occurred, there's nothing left but an all-encompassing pain that you'd do anything to escape. That's what it feels like to lose a brother.

This isn't a prank, my brother; the ultimate in pranks and jokes isn't going to pop up from the casket singing lady gaga or screaming Gotcha in my face. There will be no more back woods ATV races, no cheering for that touchdown, no more hugs or screams from me as he gives me a wedgie or catches me in a headlock. This is my new reality; this is my new normal; maybe my body finally understands the nerves which have been on paralyze up till now suddenly jerk to life.

Seizing my chest muscles, making my knees completely collapse my head spins in sickening nausea waves about to come spewing up. If you've never lost someone you loved so much that they were a part of you. Then you'll never understand the real nerve-wracking utter hell it is to have that experience hit you so damn hard, it leaves you breathless, powerless. Every tasteless thing I ate came back up right there on the sidewalk. Everyone feels frozen. The lights are too bright, the noises too loud. I don't understand what I should do, what I could do, to put myself back on the same wavelength as the rest of the world, because I feel out of phase fading away, powerless and lost.

People race over to me, grabbing at me; there's a lot of yelling, but none of it makes sense to me. Hands lift me holding my hair back, brush away my sweat carry me until my back is flat against something soft. I'm staring up at the stars, which burn so brightly they make me cry harder. My walls, the walls that have held me up, made me strong to get through the service just... collapse.

Moment by moment, they fall. Salty tears are drenching my shirt and Evan's baby blue flannel so innocent no naïve that's what Evan called me... I am anything but innocent. Or naïve, I have seen so much death in my life felt so many losses. I'm trembling. I can't stop. I press my hand inside Evan's hand, which shakes. I'm raw and broken open, the tears don't stop, and Evan doesn't hush me. He holds me as I cry which eventually turns into screaming; I scream so loud my lungs cry out in pain.

I scream until I pass out from these raw emotions.

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	2. Stay or Leave

Title: Half Of My Hometown

Chapter: 2 Stay or Leave

P O V: Sylvie Brett

Folwerton, IN 2014

Gasping for breath, I can't seem to catch it; the dancing black spots swirl in a tango of illusions and heat. Don't panic, Sylvie. You've been down this road before. Stay calm; do not panic concrete on each breath inhaling and exhaling.

"Sylvie, can you hear me?" Mama's voice comes through a haze. I can hear her make out the words she is saying, but I can't respond. "Sylvie, come back to me..to us." Mama sounds panicked scared. Why is she feeling this way? What's wrong with me, am I sick, where am I? Why can't I open my eyes? The room is spinning; my vision is a sea of green/ blue scrubs, bright white lights. I can't make out shapes or facial features, but voices I can hear clear, so I focus on that; I know it won't last, so I need to get as much information as I can while I am slightly conscious.

I'm in a hospital. I have to be a sea of green and blue scrubs. Those irritating bright lights, the god-awful bitter smells of vomit, antiseptics mixed with fecal matter, and the smells assault my sensors, making my throat gags, making my already difficult breathing now nearly suffocating. Crushing pain squeezes my chest, sending me on a trip of dizziness and nausea.

"I want her attached to an EKG stat, start a full blood panel CBC, IRT, I want a chest X-ray, upper GI and small bowel series ordered."

"Sylvie, can you hear me? It's Dr. McDaniel; honey, can you squeeze my hand?" Cool air rushes in as I feel someone or someone's cutting my clothes off. I feel pressure on my chest as someone applies the suction cups. Loud, ominous beeping fills the air; the monitors are working now. I shouldn't be scared. I know these sounds; I've heard them my entire life, yet I can't stop the fear from crushing my chest harder. Why am I in the hospital? Where was I before I was here? What happened? How sick am I? The tone of the monitor gets louder, more of a whine.

"Oxygen's low, blood pressure is crashing, get the cart ready, Sylvie! Sylvie, stay with us."

Someone is yelling down the hall loud; they won't stop; why won't they stop? Their yelling is only making my head pound harder, which doesn't help my nausea at all; it's rising, clogging the back of my throat.

"I want to go home! Let me out of here! You can't keep me! This is abuse! Let me out of here!"

The yelling is more frequent, more urgent now whoever is yelling is also pounding on the walls, kicking at objects; there's a loud metal clang. Staff members are rushing to the irate patient to calm them down, but it's only making my head feel tighter pound with an increased fragrance. I don't know the song title, but I know I should know it rum- pam..pam..pam..pam. Where do I know this song from? Why can't I place it?

"Shock..pneumonia.. left pneumothorax...get her attached to a vent...her lungs are in complete failure."

Someone cries out in pain, and it's not me but the sudden yell tenses my body. Hands hold me. I don't want to be held down; why are they holding me down? Why are people so loud? I can hear them all of them talking on phones, laughing, snorting, screaming orders at each other. Don't they know I am sick and I need my rest?

"Sylvie, can you hear me?" Yes! I can hear you, but I can't respond; damn it, why can't I respond? All I can do is moan loudly as someone opens my eyes, shining a harsh fluorescent light into my eyes; why are they so cruel? The air is still almost stale; I can't breathe it in. Grasping hands are all over my body; I hate people touching me; why are they touching me?

"She's agitated and combative; give me 0.05 mg of lorazepam."

So tired my entire body is so damn body why am I so tired, why won't they let me alone to let me sleep? "Sylvie was fine at the services. I don't know what happened, was it the alcohol? She knows better than to drink. Why would she drink?"

"Sylvie is grieving, Avery give her a break. She's human. She's allowed to make mistakes, and a few drinks won't kill her; you're too hard on her."God, my parents, are so distracting. Why can't they ever stop arguing? Don't they get it? I need to focus on catching my breath. This is a matter of life and death; I need to run free. I am the only one who can see her, only I know what she looks like, feels like or knows where she is running too, why is she running from me? We are supposed to be one.

"Temp is spiking 102..get her to ICU stat. I want her vented."

Voices drift along with the images I am floating now, drenched in a warm sweat. I can see her up ahead laughing and running free she's clapping at me, turning to taunt me; I need to catch her. God, why am I so slow?

Why is she laughing! This isn't funny. I am so scared I need her to live; why is she leaving me behind?

I've got sunshine on a cloudy day.

When it's cold outside

I've got the month of May.

I guess you'd say

What can make me feel this way

My girl, my girl, my girl

Talkin' 'bout my girl

My girl

Mama's singing to me; her voice is so sweet, but she's scared. I hate knowing I scare her. Mama's beautiful voice is singing directly to me, but I can't see her, where is she? I need to comfort her to let her know she shouldn't worry, and I will be fine as soon as I catch my damn breath.

We are in a field I can see that much now it's peaceful here I know this field it's Fairmount Park we use to go here as kids to play when we were young I can see us why can I see us as kids when I am here as an adult? It shouldn't be possible, yet here I am watching my brother's cousins, and I run barefoot through the park with the rest of the neighborhood kids. Our babysitter Delilah would play guitar. I can still feel the sunshine on my back, warming me as I giggled, feeling the grass between my toes. "you're too slow. Come on, Sylvie, catch us!" sharp grass wiggled between my bare toes as I tried to run to catch the kids. I will my legs go faster, but they are frozen in the same spot rooted to the ground as if weeds had taken hold of them; the world glitters and glows around me. My friends and brothers laugh and run free. The leaves fell in fall, fluttering to the surrounding ground; I remained frozen even as fall turned to bitter winter; the leaves withered away, dying as they disintegrated into the land covered by fresh falling snow.

My friend's voices fade as they run farther away from me, leaving me isolated and cold alone so alone. It's taken every breath I have had to get to where I am now. I have no energy left now to go any farther; as lonely as it is here in this spot, I know at least here I can breathe.

"You're not alone, sis, and we got you. We're here."

"Sparrow! Swayzee! Why! How are you here? You're dead!"

"Not yet, sis; we're unable to cross over until you are at peace." "I don't understand Swayzee."

"My god, I miss you so much."

"We know Sylvie; we can feel how unsettled you are; that's why we are here. We need to know you'll be okay without us by your sides."

"I won't be; you can't leave me! I need you. I am so tired I can't fight this alone; I need my boys by my side. Can you stay, maybe sing me to sleep." "No, sis, we can't stay. You have to decide if you want to stay or leave."

"Can't I fly with you guys? I don't want to be separated; we're not supposed to be separated; it's supposed to be the three of us together forever. How can it be if you leave me it shoots everything to hell? I need you by my side. I am so lost without you two."

"We're sorry, Sylvie."

"Speak for yourself, bro; I am happy as a calm. I finally beat Sylvie at something." Swayzee hits Sparrow teasingly. "You would be a dumb-ass." Sparrow shoves him back, laughing. "Yo, sis, remember those late-night drives we would take in the summer days?" Swayzee punches my arm. "We would fight over the radio stations, but when we would find that Broadway station, you would turn it up. We would all sing out loud with the windows rolled down."

"Yeah, Sway, I do people would look at us and point I can image them saying look at those crazy people, what are they doing? God, they are so immature. Of course, you always had a reply ready; Morii is what you would always yell out. Life is a fleeting universe of moments all ready to be captured. I won't let them steal any of my happy moments."

"My hero." I mock him as Swayzee laughs. "Damn straight, I am." Swayzee's smile captivates me. He doesn't look a day older than seventeen. He's still rocking that 90s platinum blond crewcut. His cyan eyes sparkle as bright, bringing out his dimples. "that's why your dreaming of me, Sylvie because you know your hero will ride in to save you and tell you to get your butt back into the fight. I know it ain't fair that you are alone down there left to carry on, but it's how God's plan is working for now."

"It ain't fair."

"No, it ain't let's say it louder for the people in the back." Both my brothers yell out, "It ain't fair! They dance, making me laugh. They can't be gone. I won't believe it not when they are standing here making me laugh, and my heart squeezes, unleashing all the painful weight it's been holding inside of its walls.

"You have a fire Sylvie inside of you, one that needs to be set free. Don't be afraid to light that spark; it'll turn into a wildfire. You want a different life so go for it. Ignore what others are saying. Do what you feel is right for you in your heart."

"I'm not ready to say goodbye, and I didn't get to say goodbye down there, don't ask me to now; it's too hard."

"No tears, Sylvie." I touch my face or try to, but I can't feel any flesh or feel any tears. "You're in limbo." all three of us turn to see a woman standing there. None of us know her, but she's beautiful. Her caramel hair is pulled back in a bun; her eyes sparkle a radiance of love and sympathy.

God, I hate sympathy.

"The cheerful person dies while dreaming disgraced is the person who dies without dreams. There are no tears in heaven or fears. I promise I'll take good care of your brothers Sylvie."

"How do you know who I am?" I stumble back a little, feeling off-balance. "Who I am and how I know you aren't critical. All you need to know for now is that your brothers are in excellent hands. I only ask that when you get to where God is sending you, that you look after my main one, tell her it's not her fault. She acts tough like she is invincible; she ain't. She feels things deeply and buries them in tequila."

Why am I not afraid? I am so confused I have no idea what is happening. I have no control over anything; all I can feel is that time is growing shorter. I can feel that but I can't make sense of any of this, who is this woman, how am I supposed to know her main one? Or how to find her? Does she think I am a superwoman?

"You'll know my girl when you see her; trust me, she's unforgettable. Please tell her I love her, and I am sorry for leaving."

"You'll meet some amazing people in your journey, Sylvie, if you chose to stay on earth and leave here, one of them is a man whose heart will be broken; I need you to take care of him. You have my blessing."

Who is this damn woman?

"These people you'll meet are amazing Sylvie, they're my people, and if you let them in, they'll be your people too. God has big plans for you."

The images are pixelating; voices are fading. I am feeling funny; where are they going? I'm not ready to say goodbye. No, No... I want desperately to hold onto them. "Please, I am not ready to stop dreaming; it's late. I have time yet, and people are sleeping; please stay with me a little longer."

"Sylvie, we can't but will never be far from you. Just look up onto the stars know that wherever you go in life, when you are feeling blue or lost, all you have to do is look to the stars you'll see twinkling, shimmering bright above your head laughing at you dancing for you."

"If you can't find the stars, Sylvie, just close your eyes and allow your mind to dream. I promise I'll meet you in your dreams."

No

No

No

"Sylvie, honey...I'm here. It's Mama to open your eyes." Mama's back begging me to stay with her. "Sylvie, sweetie, I am not ready to say goodbye."

Those damn bright lights are glaring. It's all I see. Everything else is broken into pixels. I'm floating on clouds; my steps are lighter. I have to tread carefully, or else I will slip and fall from balance. "Sylvie, it's Mama. I am here, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can." My hand feels so heavy I can't move it, but I feel someone pick it up, slowly squeezing my hand. Mama's hand is warm and soft, sending shock waves through my body, soaked in sweat; a fever has broken recently my chest is tight.

"Mama?" I can't seem to turn my head to find her. My voice comes out so weak I can't hear my own words. "Shh, honey, don't strain, I'm right here. Feel me stroking your cheek?" gently, I feel my mother's palm caressing my cheek, moving the oxygen mask tighter over my mouth. Sweet air filters into my mouth and nostrils.

No tube in my throat, right maybe I can talk my throat feels so tight and raw it's hard to swallow my jawline even hurts when I try to open my mouth. "don't try to talk Hun, I'll give you the answers I know the questions you'll ask."

Mama always knows what to say when I need to hear it. I feel salty tears slide down my cheeks. She's quick to wipe them away with a cold compress stroking my face as her voice softly purrs into my ears. "You passed out after the service Sylvie."

"Don't speak, babe." She stops me again before I can even attempt to speak. "you've been out for almost two months, Sylvie. It's late July. You have double pneumonia and pneumothorax, a 102 fever which finally broke last night we almost lost you once baby girl, thank God for sending you back to us."

"Your scans are looking good, baby, but we need to get your lung function up. They're down to 50% right now, but Dr. McDaniel and Evan think they can get you up within a few weeks and have you discouraged by mid-August." mid-august is she kidding me? That's forever. I don't want to be in here any longer. I want to go home, and I need to be in the field.

"Don't rush, honey; you were very sick. I haven't seen you this sick in such a long time; the stress of your job, losing your brother all contributed to you getting so sick. I have been telling you for years this job is too dangerous for your health Sylvie."

"Enough, Avery, let Sylvie rest. She doesn't need your criticizing."

"I am not criticizing Zach. She's my baby. I have already lost two children, and I can't lose her too." Grief pours out of my mom's voice. How can one word sum up so many complex emotions? I can hear the pride in my mom's voice when she talks about her children bringing home her boys after being told she would never have children of her own. "There is nothing more horrible than giving birth to a warm, beautiful, squirming baby, who slowly grows cold and still in your arms the longer they live, the more we get to know them and fall in love with them. 'Unnatural' doesn't even cover it. Watching your child die is watching hope die. Sylvie is my hope she has to live, Zach, and I will not lose her."

It's unspeakable grief losing a child. I know I have to be strong for my parents, who are stricken in despair and anger. I'm not sure how I am supposed to do this, though I had Sparrow when Swayzee died. Now they're both gone. I know Abner and Arrow are alive, but it's different with them; they don't have CF. They are healthy. They don't carry the burden I have to carry. Swayzee and Sparrow understood they were supposed to be here to help me for most of my life; they know 'where I came from,' unlike a spouse,"

As hard as it is for me, though, I can't even imagine carrying a baby for nine months, birthing that baby, feeding them, changing them, worrying for them. I feel my mom's anger, and she's justified in feeling the way she feels. I can't imagine losing two children and fearing for a third, all while trying to be there for her other healthy kids.

This is a huge transition for my parents. Up to now, they've been loving and caring for five children, giving three of us intravenous antibiotics, attending hospitals, sporting events, concerts, recitals. Cooking for a family of five, they've spent their lives doing this, and now two of their children are gone. Arrow is in the service and ready to deploy; I want to move away. There is space around. Only one child is left, seventeen-year-old Abner.

Mom does not want to cut this umbilici cord with me; I suppose I can't blame her either; holding onto me is all she knows. "Daddy?" I cringe at how weak and scratchy my voice sounds to my ears. "yes, sugar?" "Stop… fighting...please. I'm sorry...I...didn't."

"Shh honey, you have no reason to be sorry or to apologize. You can't help being sick. You are doing what you are supposed to fighting to come back to us; God answered our prayers."

"You prayed?"

My throat aches, trying to talk the effort is draining me, so I close my eyes, resting for a few moments. "Of course we did, sweetie. That's what we do in times of trouble. We turn to God."

"You still believe daddy? After God took your sons."

Taking a moment, I suck in the pure oxygen. "Want a drink, sweetie?" I squeeze my dad's strong warm, full hand. He brings me comfort. I know the odds are against me. Most people with CF barely live to see thirty-five-years-old; I am almost twenty-six now. The age has increased over the years bit it's still dismal odds if you allow yourself to think about the numbers; I don't let myself usually I refuse to put myself as statics I want to show the human side of these numbers. I am not a number or an odd; I am a human, a person with hopes, ambitions, feelings, and plans.

Dad's hand holds the cup to mine, wrapping his fingers around mine. As I grip the mug, he has it under my lips, pressing the straw between my lips. Cool refreshing liquids wets my throat and mouth. "Rest now, sweetie."

"Not yet, Daddy. I need to know how do you still believe."

"Faith, sweetheart, isn't about seeing your riches faith is believing in things that common sense tells you not to. Faith honey is trusting in Jesus, our creator. He gave us life; he has the greater plans that our eyes can not see or sometimes even understand. Jesus created us so therefore we are his children, he entrusted your mother and me to care for you and your brothers, so it isn't our right to get angry when he calls his children back home."

Bullshit

"When your mother and I adopted you, we were depressed and hopeless, having been defeated by the many attempts to have our children. You came in like a dove delivering God's message of hope, purity, peace, a blessing when we were in a dark tunnel, and you gave us the light to fly free."

"Sparrow came in like a gun-blazing on wings he gave our lives worth when everyone in life dismissed him. Within only hours of his life and told us to give up on him; Sparrow taught us to believe in miracles he showed us that even the littlest of lights are worth fighting to see no life is insignificant."

"Sweeyzee, our little lark, has been a symbol for modesty, reminding us to be grateful and humble. He brought laughter to us when we were stressed. You were always our serious one, demanding to take on the world; Sparrow was your mini-me, sensitive and timid but always ready to follow. Sweeyzee was his own little man trying to make a balance between your seriousness and Sparrow's fear. Joking became his way of life and living adventurers."

"It hurts to lose Sparrow and Swayzee, sure, but it would hurt worse never to have known them; I am grateful Jesus entrusted us to care for his children for however long he chooses. Life is short. I won't waste time being angry or living in a state of bitterness. We are his shepherds."

"Jesus gave you challenges, Sylvie, and has brought you heartache, but he also gave you a gift of healing, understanding, and compassion. People have noticed outside this town that Chief Hatcher has called a few times to offer you a job in Chicago. He's a solid man, Sylvie, understanding of your circumstances, and he says the job will be waiting for when you are ready if you choose to go."

"Zach! Are you serious? We agreed not to tell her! The last thing Sylvie should be thinking about is going anywhere near a firehouse!"

"No, we disagreed, Avery. You demanded I keep quiet, but I will not lie to our daughter; she has a right to know her choices."

"No, she needs to rest and get better, Zach, that's all. There is no reason to tell her of this offer; she's not going."

"Enough, Avery, Sylvie, is an adult; it's her choice to stay or leave, not ours; if you can't be supportive of our daughter, then get out of her room. You're right about one thing Sylvie doesn't need this damn stress. I won't have negativity around her. She's going to get better, she's getting stronger every day, and she will be back to her normal self, which means working. She's a paramedic healing is in her blood."

"Why are you making me out to be the bad guy? All I want is what's best for our daughter." My chest swells up, watching my parents shoot arguments back and forth; my throat feels tightened the room is becoming too hot and sticky. Everything is spinning again. "daddy, I'm not feeling so well." my voice seems to be floating above me "you see you're upsetting Sylvie, now get out until you get some of your senses back and have some damn faith in our daughter, in Jesus."

"Close your eyes, Sylvie take a slow deep breath, squeeze my hand. I won't let anything happen to you." I try to focus on my daddy's handsome worried face. I can see the stress has aged him, but his eyes gleam in faith, hope, and love. "Sing to me, daddy." He believes in me, so I have to believe in myself. "Of course, baby-girl." My dad kisses my forehead so tenderly it makes me melt when he starts to sing; his voice rises, lifting my spirits. I close my eyes feeling the most peaceful of feelings; it's as if I know I have my brother's watching over me; strangely, I have no idea if heaven is real or if they have crossed over yet. I don't know what the process is, wherever they are, though, I hope they are safe and happy. I can feel them with me, but I don't know what that means. Maybe I dreamed of them when I was out. I'll probably never know dose anyone ever really know what goes on when someone is in a coma or unconscious? Dad's voice lures me into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Stay or Leave. It's my choice.

He didn't have to wake up.

He'd been up all night.

Laying there in bed listening

To his newborn baby cry

He makes a pot of coffee.

He splashes water on his face.

His wife kisses him and says

It was going to be OK.

It won't be like this for long.

One day soon, we'll look back laughin'.

At the week, we brought her home.

This phase is going to fly by

So baby, just hold on.

It won't be like this for long.

Four years later, bout four-thirty.

She's crawling in their bed.

And when he drops her off at preschool.

She's clinging to his leg.

The teacher peels her off of him.

He says, what can I do.

She says, now don't you worry.

This will only last a week or two.

It won't be like this for long.

One day soon, we'll look back laughin'.

At the week, we brought her home.

This phase is going to fly by

So baby, just hold on.

It won't be like this for long.

One day soon, she'll be a teenager.

And at times, you'll think she hates him.

Then he'll walk her down the aisle.

And he'll raise her veil.

But right now, she up and crying.

And the truth is that he doesn't mind.

As he kisses her good night

And she says her prayers.

He lays down there beside her.

Till her eyes are finally closed

And just watching her, it breaks his heart.

Cause he already knows

It won't be like this for long.

One day soon, that little girl is going to be

All grown up and gone

Yeah, this phase is going to fly by

He's trying to hold on.

It won't be like this for long.

It won't be like this for long.

A/N: Won't be like this for long lyrics by Darius and Ashley Ruckus. I got sunshine is by Songwriters: Robinson William / White Ronald A.

I am thinking of doing a story about the guys at 51 finding Sylvie and her partner's journals and reading them out-loud as payback for a prank they did to them. I'm calling it Dirt Road Diaries any interests? It will be a Brettsey fic. Please review I get discouraged when no one reviews and don't see the point in updating. If you want to see the new fic let me know in the reviews. Who should her partner be? Gabby or Shay?

Happy Holidays be safe and have fun. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, followed or favored.

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	3. Strength

Fandom: Chicago Fire

Title: Half of My Hometown

Chapter 3: Strength

P O V: Sylvie Brett

"Sixty-five days, 1560 hours, 93600 minutes Evan, that's how long I have been stuck in this damn hospital."

"I get it, Sylvie; I know it sucks, honey." "All due respect Evan. No, you don't get it. You get to walk out of here at the end of your shift."

"Turn over, Sylvie." with a groan, I lift myself rolling over to my left side so Evan, who is a respiratory therapist, can finish my CPT. Which involves pounding on my back for twenty-five minutes to loosen the thick mucus inside my chest, then my right side also for twenty-minutes. The worst ones are the upside-down ones so he can pound on my chest. Having just finished those, I am exhausted, sore, tried, and breathless from coughing.

"Cough harder, Sylvie, your lungs are still too clogged; there's no way they'll let you out of the hospital with your oxygen still below fifty percent." Annoyance flows through my veins as I gasp for air sitting up, sweat soaks my half-naked body, my boxers barely hang to my skin; I've lost over thirty pounds since I have been hospitalized.

"I am coughing!" "Not hard enough, Sylvie. You're doing more bitching than coughing." Evan's hands are rough and warm as they push me down on my side, none-too gently. My walls are contracting as each cough rips through my chest. Gripping the basin close to my mouth, I cough and spit as his fists pound rhythmically across my side, which hurts consider the amount of weight I have lost. Bright red blood coughs up, not unusual when I have been fighting infections for as long as I have this time around.

"Don't shut down on me, Sylvie. You've been sliding into this state of depression and teenage self-loathing for weeks now. You're barely trying."

"Don't tell me what I am doing or what I am not doing. You're not the one living with this God damn illness. You didn't lose both of your brothers...OW!" I shove Evan's hands off my body after his right one slams into my side so hard I feel a rib crack.

"Get out!"

Pulling the covers over my shaking body, I curl up in a ball. "when you're done acting like a damn two-year-old Sylvie, page someone to finish your session; I am going home. I can't stand to watch you acting like a spoiled brat, you've been given another chance at life, and all you've been doing is acting like a damn bitch since you've woken up. Your brothers would be ashamed of how you're acting"

"Good thing they're dead than I guess, isn't it, Evan? We wouldn't want them to see me grieving now, would we? Get out." Gasping my pillow, I turn my face into them, coughing hard, my lungs screaming curse words at me with each cough.

I hear Evan leave with no other words; tears slide down in frustration, I don't want to feel this way. I hate feeling so hopeless. Every time I close my eyes, I see a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds merging. I see myself floating over my own body, watching doctors and nurses working over me; I hear them shouting orders, warnings of my deescalating health. I hear the monitors going off. I can't move to get back to my body; I am frozen in clouds that have chained around my ankles. I hear my friends and brothers laughing behind me, calling to me, I can't move to them, and I can't go to my body.

I am frozen.

I wake up terrified; my body shakes as if the shackles of my dreams are coming off; my tears flow for hours as my body shakes and shakes till I am coughing, and I can't stop coughing even as I spit up the mucus. Each time I send a prayer to God to take away these nightmares or these flashbacks, I still have them each night.

I think it's essential to only have positive thoughts in your mind. It's so easy to get down when you're sick and feeling bad. Especially at the age I am now, the average life for a CF'er is thirty-six; that's only ten-years away for me; each hospitalization, I keep thinking, is this the end? Am I going to get over this cold? Or this bout of pneumonia? Is this it? I've battled depression before and anxiety. I know that's what this is, but this time I can't seem to shake it. I know my brother's deaths are affecting me. I know they wouldn't want me to sink like this. I keep trying to stay positive mentally. My body, however, doesn't want to improve. I take the medications, I do the treatments, and nothing is improving.

Emptiness fills the room as the stillness of zero life presence reminds me I am once again alone. Forever and infinity alone. I don't want to kill myself; I want to live. I wish I had the energy to keep fighting, my problem this time is I am utterly drained mentally between fighting daily for every breath; I've had to fight for my safety on the job as a paramedic and against my team. I'm sick of being chained down by these walls. Without my brother, I feel so alone and hopeless. There's no one there by my side now to cheer me on, I don't need the protection aspect; I can defend myself physically, but being alone mentally is a slow suicide of the mind.

I haven't been able to eat in over a month. Dr. McDaniel has already put a feeding tube in my stomach because I have lost so much weight. I've tried to force food down, but I keep throwing up everything; when I manage not to throw it up, the damn food escapes anyway. Vomiting of the butt is about as pleasant on the stomach's lining as the mouth version.

I've been a warrior my entire life, so I wish I could shake this. I hate that I was such a bitch to Evan. He deserved better, but I can't stop this giant claw from coming over my mind and emotions when I look at him lately. "It's the ugliness seeping out of you." I hear the whisper, but I know that there is no one in the room with me; the voice is a figment of my slow descent into depression, anxiety, and delusions. "You're a loser, Sylvie, you have always been. It's why you had no friends in school, and it's why everyone thinks you are such a simple piece of ass; no one would want to be friends with someone as ugly and pathetic as you. You're sick!" The voice is always with me in the back of my mind tempting me to end things. Most days, I can fight it. I could always talk to my brothers. They knew how to calm my storms, but now they're gone, and the voices are back more powerful than ever. I feel my fingers tighten around the sheets pulling till they are yanking to clutch them to my body. My chest has constricted but not from the CF or pneumonia. The lights are darkened; I can see the shadows of my mind taunting me dancing between the curtains and the balcony. Even closing my eyes does not affect the racing thoughts which cause my heartbeat to speed up, hitting me as if it attaches the bag of feelings to a ton of bricks.

My sweaty, shaking fingers stumble for the call button. I feel the fear growing as I can't find it. "Why bother pussy? You won't push it, anyway; you're a weak-ass bitch, you can't admit you need help, no one will believe you anyway, drama queen. No one gives a damn about you. Who the hell do you think you are? Someone special? Ha!" My body has grown cold. Every breath is shorter than the one before, and my throat is tightened so tight now even if I found the button, I wouldn't be able to talk into the remote to call for help.

My monitors are blaring, but no one is coming. I can see the green numbers glaring. My damn heart rate is close to 180 bpm now. "I'm here. I will never leave you bitch; you can't shake me." "Hey, don't forget about me! Ha-ha! I'm here too!" Clowns, fuck, I have always hated them, and now they've become the shapes of these shadows they have been taunting me; these two don't look like the typical child-balloon baring clowns, though. The gender-less bitch on the left is faceless only visible part is their eyes, red black pools streaming blood of tears. Everything else is pure black, from the clothes to the hair, which is wild and stuck out it twists the lips into a frown. I call this freak depression because they always have the worst of human thoughts to whisper to me. When it is silent, their friend anxiety takes over. Anxiety has wild red curly hair and giant black beady eyes, which flash a blinding red when he or she talks to me. When they start in on me, they leap at me; their hands become teeth snapping at me each time they get closer to biting me.

I have no control over them; I never know where they are coming from or what they will say. I can't even settle on a name for them; some days, I call them shame and blame; other days I call them guilt and punishment. Another day they may go by the names tears and fears, some-days I can't even be bothered to call them anything hopeless and useless; that's how I feel on those days. There are seminal moments, defining moments in life. And when they occur, they represent a life - what life was before that moment, what life was after that moment.

My brother's deaths will always be two of those moments for me. I know I need to find a reason a source of strength to get through this. I want to be free of these emotions of this weight. I'm searching; I can't find the surface. I don't get why Evan can't see that. How could he leave me alone even though it's what I said? He should know it's not what I meant or need.

"I will be your legacy Sylvie, listen to me, let me guide you." I can hear Sparrow's voice so soft it's as if the winds are whispering to me from heaven, maybe I am going crazy, perhaps the straitjacket is what I need.

"Are you crazy, Sparrow? Do you think this loser can be your wings to carry your legacy? She's weak! She's useless!"

"Shut-up, she's my sister!"

"Ha! No wonder you died to get away from this piece of crap loser. I would've killed myself screw CF!"

185 bpm

187 bpm

"Honor me, Sylvie, live..choose life! You are not alone; remember what I said look to the stars when you are lost."

When did he say that? I can't remember. Why can't I remember? My legs shake as I swing them over the side of the bed, ripping off my chest pads. I hear the monitor going crazy as I stand and push myself away from the bed, walking to the balcony pulling my IV pole with me. I know the stars will be there. It's one good thing about the country. You can always see their beauty shining bright, not dimmed by city lights, but the fear of them not being there has become so intense, so sudden. I have never experienced this feeling before, but now the intensity makes my aching legs go faster. The cool night air hits my sweaty skin, making me shiver as I pull open the sliding door.

Sinking into a chair, I lean my head back, gulping fresh bits of air, trying to calm my racing heart, hoping these voices stop. I can't take much more right now. It drains my energy from the constant keening and fighting off these voices mixed with these coughing spasms. "I love you, Sylvie, I miss you, I see you look up." absentmindedly with no thought given to it, I follow the voice looking up into the night sky, and I swear I see them my brother's staring down dancing upon two stars waving to me. I am officially going loony. Swayzee swings his hands as if he is hitting a home-run towards me while Sparrow turns away laughing, motioning to follow him. He knows I can't, though, so why is he trying to tease me? My heart aches to see them, even if it's only shadows dancing in my memory as dustings across the stars.

"You will be my voice. I shall live on in you, listen to me Sylvie I am not gone, I did not die, I live on in you, in your heart, in your strength. We both do; please don't quit on us, don't give in to those other voices. Remember what you told us when we were eight?"

Heaviness clouds my head and forces my eyes closed as the winds blow gently across my face. I feel the remnants of a memory kicking up dust inside my brain. Slowly the shadows of three eight-year-old's come more transparent inside my memory. Sparrow's tiny voice is trembling as he came running into our shared bedroom late one night.

"Sylvie...Sylvie. I need my mermaid. Sylvie, can you sleep with me tonight? I'm scared, please don't tell Mama and daddy."

"Sparrow, tell me you did not watch the movie about those deranged clowns!" I can still see his little head dipped in shame. His cheeks reddened as he bit his lower lip, clutching his favorite blanket. "I'm sorry! But Swayzee double dared me! You can't say no to a double dare!"

"Yeah, you can, dude. It's as easy as saying yes, two letters bro N-O."

"Easy for you to say you're a girl; girls are sissies!"

"Oh, really says the one trembling and nearly wetting himself in fear because he watched a movie I already told him would scare the Dejesus out of you."

"Okay, you were right. I am sorry I should have listened. I thought I wouldn't be scared if I wore my superhero PJ's."

"Some superhero, more like super-loser. I'm watching you Sparrow."

I can hear fake clown voice coming from my closet, which freaks me out even though I know it's Swayzee; I hate clowns.

"Did you think the fabric would give you superpowers? Oh, my little mermaid- Sparrow-superhero-Mr-Rio Dejanario, what am I going to do with you, mister?" "Hold me! Don't let the clowns get me! They're here! I can hear them; they're laughing at me; make them stop!"

"Mom! Dad! Swayzee's looking at dirty magazines!"

"Ah!" Swayzee fell out of the closet screaming in terror, but the voices stoppted. "I am not!" mom's footsteps came to my room seconds later, Sparrow still clung to my arms, shaking, not lifting his head off my chest. "All three of you need to be in bed like an hour ago; get your butts into bed now!"

Mom's gaze leveled upon all three of us, scanning the boys closer. "I don't care who did it, which of you broke it, fix whatever it is, and get to bed, if I come in here one more time, all three of you are grounded. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Ma'am!"

"Tattle-tail!"

"Bully!"

"Cry-baby!"

"Freak!"

"Get out of my room Swayzee, now, or I will tell mama again."

Swayzee crossed his arms, sticking his tongue at me, not moving, trying to look fierce in his teenage ninja mutant turtle PJs. "Aw, you scared Swayzee!" "I am not fear is for babies like weak sparrows and sissy-girls."

"Then, why are you shaking?"

"I have to pee."

"So go to the bathroom; you do remember how to pee-pee yourself, right? Or do I need to hold your hand?"

"No! I can do it myself, I just I can't uh…

"They scare him! Ha, the bully is a chicken! Buck-a buck-a buck!" Sparrow laughed so hard, clapping at the discovery of our brother being nothing more than a chicken after Swayzee spent the school day calling Sparrow a chicken in front of our peers for not wanting to watch the movie about killer clowns. Now Swayzee stood in our bedroom holding his legs together doing his I have to pee-pee dance. "Sparrow, why don't you pick some music out for us to listen to before bed."

"Yay! Debbie Gibson! Totally!"

"Cool by me, let's go, Swayzee. I won't let the clown get you. They are your fears manifesting inside your mind, and they ain't real. Think funny thoughts, and I promise laughter will replace the fear."

"I can't. I am too afraid, and I have to pee!" picking Swayzee's hand up, I hurried him to the bathroom, standing outside the door. "I can't make myself go! It hurts! I can hear them laughing at me!"

"Hey, Swayzee!"

"Yeah!"

"What do you call cheese that isn't yours?"

"I don't know." "Nacho Cheese." "That's lame." Swayzee laughed despite proclaiming; it was lame. I smiled and kept going. "What do you call a cow with two legs?" "A skim cow?" "Nope, lean meat." "Aw, that sucks.." tiny laughter filled the room. "What do you call a pig that knows karate?" "Pork Chops!" "Okay, you got me on that one, so what do you call a sleeping bull?" "I don't know, Sylvie." "A bulldozer."

"Uh, these jokes are lame." the sound of rushing water filled the room as Swayzee giggled, finally getting the relief he craved. 'What side of the turkey has the most feathers?" "The alive turkey." "Oh, not even close. Try the outside."

"Okay, what kind of eggs dose the evil hen lay?"

"I don't know."

"Deviled eggs." Coming out, he rolled his eyes at me as we headed back to my bedroom. "hey Sylvie." "Yeah?" "Can we not tell anyone at school that I was afraid of the movie?" Swayzee hung his head shyly, avoiding looking into my eyes. I lifted his chin to see his eyes glisten in tears.

"Do you promise to stop making fun of your brother?"

"If I have to, but he's a cry-baby" I don't point out the fact I saw tears in his eyes. "Why because he shows emotions? Do you think that makes him less of a man?"

"Yeah, that's what grandpa always says real men don't cry, even daddy says it, you've heard them."

"Yes, I have, but they're wrong real men show emotions. Real men aren't afraid to be themselves, and every human has feelings; everyone gets sad or scared from time to time. No one ever has the right to make another human feel ashamed of showing emotions. Men at fifty can cry, men at eighty can cry, and eight-year-old boys who are frightened can cry. We need to change Swayzee so kids can understand it's okay to be authentic; being yourself is beautiful. Boys who cry aren't sissies or gay. They are just human. So if you can't make the deal to stop picking on your brother, I can't make a deal with you, got it?"

"I understand, sissy. I can do that. He's my brother; I will protect him."

"Than I think we can arrange that, as long as you keep your promise, or I will blast it over the PA System."

"I promise, oh, and thanks for you know."

"Yeah, no problem; what are siblings for if not to help each other laugh out our body fluids?"

"Can we sleep in the backyard tonight? The stars are shining, and I could use some fresh air."

"Sure, but we need to sleep, I am exhausted, and I have cheer-leading tomorrow."

My brothers and I had built a fort in the backyard where we could lay under the stars when it was a decent night. After gathering some blankets and a battery-operated alarm clock, we laid down under the stars pressed together. "Look at that star! It looks like a sphinx. Did you know that the Egyptian sphinx was benevolent but had a ferocious strength similar to the malevolent Greek version? Both were thought of as guardians and often flank the entrances to temples, sis?"

"Yes, I did; we have the same class remember."

"Oh, yeah, we do well. I am going to name that star sway cuz we both have a ferocious spirit."

"Okay, you do that, Sway, you do that." My yawn came on, so suddenly, we all laughed. "Hey Sylvie, look at that star. It looks like a bunch of trees in a forest." Sparrow pointed to one star, which looked like four stars put together pointy edges filling the shape to give it more depth. "Yo' it looks like a howling tree, will call that one Sylvie cause her name means forest and she's always howling."

"I'm going to kill you, Swayzee!"

"Not if we double team you first!" In that instant, it went from three of us as one to two against one. Both boys pounced on my body, tickling me as I tried to roll away, but they grabbed my hair and arms holding me down. All three of us got flushed easily, but they had typical boy energy and kept going ticking and pinching me. I yelped and tried to fight them off; I couldn't though my lungs screamed in pain, and after a few bursts of laughter, I was coughing so hard I felt the stars dancing across my vision, fear overtook me, and I knew I was blacking out.

Brother's can break your heart one minute and make you so angry the next minute you want to break their arms. I never could get the "stop" out of my lips, yet somehow they knew; no words needed to be said they just stopped tickling me and held me tight between them. "You two are rotten to the core," I remember gasping out after they had stopped. "Yeah, we are, sis guess it's too bad we aren't oranges, Sparrow."

"Yeah it's a-shame I like oranges? They are tangy and sweet, just like I am." "Yeah, but apples don't have peals, so Sylvie can't peal us off her; she's stuck with us rotten cores and all." Swayzee laughed so hard I swear I saw snot come out of his nose. "Ah, so lame, bro. Don't give up on school cuz Hollywood ain't calling for your comedic star-power."

"Not yet, Sylvie but someday will all be stars. Hollywood need not apply."

"You make no sense Swayzee."

"I can't make sense. I have nothing to give you change."

"Uh, Lord, stop with the lame jokes."

"No joke, sis, someday we will all become stars, when we return to the earth ashes to ashes dust to dust, from the earth, we came so we shall return earth. One day when we die, will all become stars when that day comes take my ashes, cut me up into little stars, and I will make the face of heaven so bright that all the world will be in love with the night and pay no worship to the Grayish sun."

"Deep bro, stop reading my Shakespeare books; Mama will kill me if you attempt any of the dangerous things talked about in those books."

My head snaps up as I feel the wind slap me across my face waking me from my slumber I have no clue how long I was asleep for, but it's pitch black out now. Only the stars for a glow of light the memories fade from my childhood I am alone again, in the frosty night air, no voices, no shadows, just me and my thoughts.

"Are you up there, boys?" I whisper to the sky as if I will get a proper answer. I don't see any all I get back is the twinkling of the stars, which are beautiful, peaceful but silent in the night sky. I find myself strangely at peace though not plagued by the earlier demons. "found her, she's out here!" looking up, I am not surprised to see my night nurse Rosetta Thomas rush out on to the balcony, looking slightly annoyed by me. "Sylvie, you know better than to do this. You gave us all a scare. We thought something had happened to you. For Christ's sake, this is a hospital, not a playground; if you want to go somewhere, ask, don't just take matters into your own hands. When those alarms went out, we thought...dear Lord, your stunt could have taken time away from genuine emergencies!"

I should feel ashamed that I caused her or any of the staff so much grief. I know how challenging the medical field is even on the slowest of days, but I can't seem to find any emotions left inside of me to muster up for her.

"Rosetta! Enough I will take care of Sylvie. You can leave, and for future reference, if you have an issue with one of my patients, take it up with me. Do not stand here and scream at any of my patients ever; you are their nurse, not their teacher or parent." Dr. McDaniel entered my balcony, sitting down beside me, taking out her stethoscope and pressing it to my chest. Rosetta huffs, throwing her hands up stomping out of the room.

"Beautiful view. I can see why you came out here tonight, sometimes we all need a little fresh air, a reminder of how insignificant we compare us to the beautiful stars." Dr. McDaniel moves the scope across my chest and back. I feel my breath suck in from the coldness of the metal. "I'll save you the speech, Sylvie, and I know why you came out here."

"Doubtful."

"Try me, Sylvie. I have been doing this for a while, longer than you've been alive." "You'll be doing it longer than I live, too, I'm sure."

"No one can say that Sylvie, no one knows how long they are going to live."

"I was born dying, which means my time is less for this earth and more for the stars, it's a fair chance I won't live past thirty-five, my lungs are barely at fifty percent, I've been hospitalized six times in the last six months, I have never been this bad before."

"You've never had the stress you have either between growing up, dealing with a sexiest perverted boss, losing two brothers, a fiancee walking out, Sylvie even the strongest ropes have their breaking points. It would help if you had time to recharge; your mind is spent, your body is exhausted. I can see the toll these last few years have taken on your body, and that affects the mental body as much as it affects the physical body."

Taking off her jacket, she wraps it around my shoulders, helping me stand; I don't argue with her; I know I will lose; she leads me inside. "You matter, Sylvie. You need to take the time to show yourself that yes, you are hurting and that it's okay to hurt. Normally, I would be more worried if you weren't going through this stage." Taking my left hand, her arm is wrapped under my armpits, walking me into the room slowly. "You've battled this demon before successfully, and I know you didn't want medication then because you are on so much already." I nod, thinking about the 45 to fifty pills I have to take daily to exist; the thought of adding any anxiety or depression medication stresses me out further.

"I seriously urge you to reconsider, Sylvie; this time around, you seem defeated, that worries me. In the past, you were always determined to beat it, always looking for a positive spin. Now I don't see any sparkle in your eyes, and I see only sadness and hopelessness. I'm getting reports from the team here that you've barely put any effort in the last few weeks in your therapy sessions; you kicked Evan out today, one of your best friends, and may I remind you, your roommate. Evan cares deeply for you, and your reaction upset him; scratch that, it angered and worried him; I had to send him home; Sylvie, he couldn't focus on anyone else. Evan isn't afraid to show emotions, and seeing him break down and cry honestly scared me; Evan has known you your entire life, Sylvie. If he thinks there's an issue, I believe him even if I hadn't been watching you and fearing the same things for weeks."

I feel a wave of guilt hit me. I never considered how Evan must hurt losing his boyfriend watching me fight against this illness, feeling helpless and scared he would lose me; I have been so selfish.

"I wouldn't do anything to hurt myself; I want to live, I don't know how anymore. Or what the point even is, I am tired of hurting and struggling. I can't burden my parents with this; they just lost their son."

"Admitting you need help is the first step Sylvie, we can help you. I would like to believe you wouldn't hurt yourself, honey, I have known you since you were a year old, but the mind is a powerful and scary place; these thoughts can take a deadly turn faster than you could ever guess. I honestly believe medication is necessary this time around, at least for a while."

"Your parents love you and want you to talk to them; you are their daughter, not a burden, I know you feel responsible to survive for them, but you can't live for them, honey. You can't live for your brothers. Want to live, want to get better. I know you have the power and strength. I have seen you fight time and time again. I will stay with you tonight Sylvie, I'm off duty now, so it's no issues. Will we talk, okay, honey? Come up with a long-term plan." Helping me back into bed, she reexamines me. "Let's get some CPT in since it cut your session short; then I want some ice on that nasty looking bruise. Does it hurt?" She runs her hand over my rib cage where Evan's fist connected with me earlier. I wince, my breath hissing out, "No." "Liar." I shrug as I sit up so she can pound lightly on my back, causing me to cough and cough till I spit-up.

Forty minutes later, I lay back exhausted with oxygen on my face. She strokes my face wiping me down with a cold compress. "Some-day's sweetie, you are your own worst enemy, when you have a panic attack, you immediately berate yourself, telling yourself that you should be stronger or better or happier. Instead of just taking a breath and saying this is just a phrase, this is one moment out of an entire lifetime of moments, and this will pass. Anxiety and Depressions are illnesses every much as CF is sweetie; you take medication to manage CF. You do treatments, right?" "Yes, so I should be open to treating this illness as I do my CF; instead of trying to be a martyr, I should open myself up for help?"

"Yes, encourage yourself, Sylvie, tell yourself it's okay to cry, it's okay to breakdown it isn't a weakness, it's strength to admit you need help and you're not okay. Focus on what you can do to change and what you can do to make each day special. Little things can make all the difference in your mental outlook. Maybe you need a change of cities. Sylvie, I think Chicago would be a tremendous change for you. New people, new town, a faster, more demanding job to challenge yourself, mentally and physically you can handle it, Sylvie, once we get you back up to your normal lung strength."

"You think I should leave?"

"Yes, I think it might save your life. For now, I want you to rest. I am going to give you a little sedative to help you relax; you need to heal Sylvie." I don't argue too drained even to form a thought. My eyes find the skyline, and I watch the stars twinkling and wonder why people are so in love with the sun when the night sky is so damn beautiful.

Waking up can be brutal even after a full night's sleep; while I am not sure how much sleep I have gotten, I know it isn't a full night's sleep. I'm groggy, my head is pounding, my eyes are blurry, and I can feel the thundering of my heart nearly beating out of my chest. What was I dreaming about? I can't remember. They say if your dreams are better than reality, waking up can be that much more brutal. The saddest part of it is, though, that eventually, even the memory of my best dreams will fade - if I am ever lucky enough to remember it, that is. Now I'm left with this lonely feeling of detachment no proof that I ever had the dream to begin with.

"Sylvie, it's about time you woke up. I have been sitting here forever."

"Grandma, Ennis?"

Pushing myself up, I shake my head to clear my head of the last of the cobwebs. "I'm turning the lights on, sweetie. Shield your eyes." putting my hand over my eyes; I block the blinding lights which come flooding through the room as my grandma turns the lights on, coming to sit by my side. "Hey, we're here too, sis." Arrow's voice causes me to look to my left, where I see him and his seven-year-old son Nashville Knox Brett sitting on the left side. "Dr. McDaniel called me Sylvie; she's told me what's going on. I am sorry I missed the signs, my sweet Sylvie. I am here now, though, so is Arrow we need you to listen to us, sweetheart. Can you do that?"

I nod, sitting up further Arrow sits beside me on my bed, taking my hand, which is frail and covered in veins inside his big strong palm. "Oh sis, I am so sorry I missed the signs; I wish I had been more observant. You don't deserve to feel this way; I know how scary it is. Please listen to Grandma, though let her remind you of the legacy of powerful women you come from, Sylvie."

"Grandma, you forget I am adopted. None of these ladies are related to me, and it doesn't matter how strong they are. None of them passed on any of these genes to me, and I'm adopted; God, forgot my legacy."

"No darling, I have not forgotten, and you are wrong; blood ain't what makes a family connection. It's the shared history, the beat of our hearts, and the strength of our wills. Now sit back and listen to me. If you have forgotten where you come from and who you come from, I will give you a little crash course in our family history. I want you to clear your mind of all this Harrison crap because he is one shitty man who doesn't deserve your thoughts or heartache. Even his family is ashamed of his actions, and you know his Mama won't even serve him when he comes into McDonald's. That's how much shame he brought to their family. You, my dear Sylvie Shea Brett, come from very different stock, so stiffen that upper lip, and pay attention."

"You are every ounce of a Brett/ O'Shea lady our women have had to be tough to survive in this world since the dawn of time. Every woman in our family history has had some obstetrical to overcome; you, my dear, are no different."

"The first female I know about in our family is a young woman named Bourgeois Risette Marseille, born in 1819 in Paris France. Bourgeois's mom Île De Mae and her father Versaille ran a trendy inn which held the socialites and dignities as guests whenever they came to Paris for business. The business was very successful for them, which meant work was never-ending Bourgeois was the oldest child, so she was to check-in guests, seeing them to their rooms. Cleaning the rooms and taking care of her six brothers and three sisters so their parents could focus on running the inn, school was not mandatory in those early ages, so most kids received little to no education. Kids didn't play back then; there was no TV, no internet, no time to be youthful; they spent every day earning enough money to survive. The girls in the Marseille family spent long days cooking, churning butter, making bread and cheeses, preserving foods, cleaning, doing laundry, making candles, sewing clothes for the family and the guests, preparing fibers like wool and flax to spin and weave, caring for younger brothers and sisters and helping elderly family members."

"Family life was hard, but each night Bourgeois and her younger siblings would get to have some fun as entertainment; they were blessed musically Bourgeois had the voice of an angel, and all the kids could be self-taught in instruments. Each night they would perform for the guests as they relaxed after the evening meal, many guests were so impressed they threw money down as a symbol of gratitude and pleasure."

"Life transformed for Bourgeous at age thirteen in 1832 during the June rebellion when people fought for equality, two days of loitering and violent fighting followed. The inn of Marseille was burned to the ground. Bourgeois witnessed her parents and four brothers, and three sisters burn. She could only get herself and two brothers to safety but they were left homeless in the middle of a city of flames. Bourgeois, her two brother's Jean and Napoleonic, had no choice left but to take the secret society's side and join the fight. Bourgeois disguised as a boy took her place with her brothers, delivering messages to the two sides, firing rifles, and leading younger children into the fight for equality. Bourgeois became a legend among the kids for her ruthless tactics to get the mission completed, and she showed no fear, for she had nothing left to lose. She had already lost her beloved family and her life as she knew it. By the time those two days were up, her brother Jean also fell in the battle shot twice by the government troupes. Bourgeois herself was shot and dragged out of the city's bloody streets by another young fighter, a boy younger than herself, an Irish boy who went by the name of Tipperary O'Shea.

"Tipperary's father Colmac was a doctor who nursed Bourgeois back to health, and they took her and Napoleonic into their care traveling back to their homeland of Lisburn in County Antrim Ireland. A

rural land that had fewer than eight- hundred homes, all farmland. The O'Shea's had a farm of twenty-acres, so while they weren't considered poor class, they were far from aristocratic."

"Bourgeois and Napoleonic grew up working in the field harvesting and planting, canning and caring for the crops, by the age of 15, Bourgeois and Tipperary had started seeing each other in secret Marriages were most frequently arranged. Matchmaking was the "prerogative of the parents, and in their eyes, Bourgeois was beneath them. By the time they had found out Bourgeois was already pregnant with their first child."

"Giving birth in those days was an entirely different experience as it is nowadays, lass. There were no hospitals, nor were there doctors to assist in their births; children were often acting as doctors assisting in their brothers and sisters' birthing. When it was discovered that she was pregnant, Bourgeois and Tipperary were thrown out of the family home and left to fend for themselves."

"Bourgeois and Tipperary wandered from village to village taking work as farming Laborer whenever they could find it. The Irish Farm laborer was perhaps the lowest form of humanity in the Irish culture of that day. A meager wage might be 5 pennies a day with a potato meal thrown in for the evening. Many times during the off-season in Ireland, they would have to ship across to work on the Landlord's English estates, leaving their family in Ireland to fend for themselves by begging from neighbors and the church. Many "Estate" laborers were almost akin to the Southern American slaves and did not even receive a wage, but were only guaranteed a roof over their head and a small plot of ground to grow their food. Because of their tender age and her condition, aka pregnancy, no family would take them in, so they were left to wander as travelers."

"On the 4th of July 1845, their first child, a beautiful wee baby girl, was born among the fields of northern Ireland. Macha Nollaig O'Shea, with a child now in the mix, settled in southern Ireland, where they set upon building an inn such as the one Bourgeois had grown up in. It took some time and loads of work, but they did so with other travelers' help. Macha was the first of ten children to be born. She became the childcare taker, thee lookout when thee landlords would try to evict if they couldn't make rent for that month."

'When Macha was two, the worst of the famine hit her country. The Great Famine was a period of mass starvation and disease in Ireland from 1845 to 1849. With the most severely affected areas in the west and south of Ireland, where the Irish language was dominant, the worst year of the period was 1847, known as "Black '47" During the famine, about 1 million people died and 1 million more left the country, causing the country's population to fall by 20%–25%. Macha and her family attempted to flee Ireland through the passage on a ship, but they were traveling on crashed and sunk to the Atlantic's bottom. Macha and her four brothers were the only ones in her family to survive the icy waters. She held onto them and tried to keep afloat until a rescue ship came and found them. One woman by the name of Antrim Falero was a part of the rescue crew who took pity on them and adopted them; an Irish woman herself, she took them back to her home and raised them as her own children, unable to bear her own children, and unwed she viewed them as blessings and dotted on them."

"Macha was suffered from pouts of pneumonia throughout her childhood, tuberculosis killed one brother, and another passed away young because of the fever that killed thousands of people in Ireland at a time. At fourteen, her only remaining brother joined the British Army. He left their home only days before their landlord tried to evict them for overdue rent, Antrim who had become ill, could not work or pay the rent. Instead of evicting them, thee pig of thee, landlord, demanding payment in other nature's upon fifteen-year-old Macha who forced to sleep with him to ensure her family had a roof over her their head, and food on the table."

"Macha was raped weekly, and as a result gave birth to six children over the course of five years. Upon returning home after five years of severing in the Army her brother walked in to hear the sounds of his sister being raped, kids crying from hunger and he murdered the landlord mid-act. Macha learned quickly how to harvest their own food, how to hunt off the land. Life was hard, but she held strong to her faith and kept going for the sake of her children. She dreamed of her kids and grandchildren would have a better life than her one-day."

"Macha's oldest child Alaois River O'Shea sired five kids his oldest Roisin was born in 1874 a spitfire of a lass every ounce of her resembled Macha. Inducing her fiery spirit. At thirteen-years-of-age, her parents sent her to America by herself upon a ship. Two months she spent on that awful vogue where many did not survive. It was on the ship she met a dashing young man named Maxwell Benjamin Brett, also a youth of only fourteen sent by his parents to make enough money to send home to his parents who were out of work and ill."

"Roisin went to work in the mills a brutal way for any young lass to make a living; they worked long hours 69 to 80 hours, in hot and dangerous conditions. Many of these English girls were jealous and angry at the Irish for coming to America. They blamed us for taking their jobs, for the long hours and lower wages. Benjamin went to work on the canal, and in the mines where he faced many of the same brutalizes as Roisin, the damn yank boys considered the Irish males as eejits, often attacking the boys, beating them. Making their lives so bloody awful they would want nothing more to do with America and flee back to Ireland as if we would, there was no food, nor work back in our country."

"Their only comfort were thee nightly signings that all the Irish had in one of their row homes it was a chance for them to sing songs of their homeland, to chat about news form Ireland, and a chance to be young, mingle."

Roisin made enough money to send for the passage for her parents and for her Grandmother to join her in America. Roisin and Benjamin newlywed in met up with Benjamin's brothers Cathal and Cashel and uncle Francis. They came to America and bought uninhibited land in Indiana called Leach which became Fowlerton in 1902, building a farm and planting crops.

"In 1896 another Irish family Coireall and his wife, Aoife O'Grady, passed through and fell in love with the land. They made a deal with the Brett family to build a train station and help transport their crops to bigger cities, to trade for goods, if they were allowed to build a home on Brett's land without being shot."

"The O' Grady's built a church and the first general store as well, within a few years other Irish immigrates had heard abut this prospecting town and started coming. The Brett family built a post office, and many homes became landlords, fair landlords who helped fix any issues that arise, who taught the new families how to plant, harvest, and can; the Brett's built the first school, a small one-room house. Fowlerton was a booming town with multiple stores, bars all owned by The Brett's and the O'Grady's.

"1892 both families started having children Roisin and Ben had twins Oisin Phelan Brett, Sylvia Rionach Brett."

"Coireall and Aoife O'Grady delivered twins Daithi, Cara O'Grady."

"In 1893, Roisin and Ben had two more children, twins Siobhan and Girvan."

"In 1895, Coireall and Aoife had Jennifer and Elizabeth Anne."

The Great Flood of 1913 wiped out the entire town and left buildings, homes, and debris deep underwater. It was a hard time for the families, but they never quit; they picked up their pride and came up with ideas to rebuild.

"By 1916 Ireland was torn apart by war the IRA tried to control everyone, Carlen and Delvin, Roisin's brothers were on opposing sides, leading to conflict between her relationship with both of them. Every night Roisin fell to her knees, praying for a resolution to the troubles plaguing her homeland. Still, life wasn't much more comfortable here in the USA either, World War One had broken out, and Cathal, tired of farming life, had joined the Army.

"Cathal never returned, leaving behind his widow wife Brigid-Ann Brett and their four children, as horrible as it was the families stuck together in Fowlerton. The children of each family often pairing up together; In 1922 Oisin married Cara they had sons Tadgh, Torin, Piran, and daughters Edele, Caoimhe, Ailis."

"Nana, where do you come from?"

Nash suddenly looks up, confused, which breaks my heart that he never meet his great-grandfather Tadgh Brett. "Ay, son, I am getting there; please be patient and listen like the way your aunt Sylvie is." "Sorry, Grandma." Nash gets into my bed, settling beside me, his head resting on my chest. I stroke his hair, engrossed in my family's history.

"I was born to my parents Rafferty and Rhionnan O'Shane in 1922 in Londonderry, Ireland. My parents were Soldiers who fought in the Irish War for Independence, the things they had seen and done haunted them, but while my Dad got to cover his fears and nightmares by drinking, Mam had to carry on. They had ten children to raise, clothe, and feed. I was thee oldest than came along Saoirse, Sine, Catherine Mary, Macha, Shane, Keir, Aidan, Connelly and Rourke, Cathal."

"My Dad was a hard-working man who provided for us financially. He operated a shipping line; from an early age, they put my siblings and me to work, helping to load and unload cargo; we learned how to kill fish, catch fish, skin and chop the fish, we learned how to fry fish properly. My Mams family owned one of the most popular pubs in our city. When we weren't working in the shipping yard, we were at the pub serving tables, busing tables, cleaning, showing guests to their seats, helping in the kitchen. I was to help to get the kids ready in the mornings for school, dressed, fed, and making sure their homework was done, so Mam could be at the pub getting ready and Da' at the shipyard."

"When Dad got drunk, he got belligerent turning his rage at my Mam, they fought viciously, I kept the kids away as much as possible, singing to them making up games, but with ten kids to watch, it was impossible to keep track of every second. Dad would yell, call Mam nasty names, glass was thrown, his footsteps were angry and heavy, his fists raged against her tender face, Mam's screams filled my head with terrible nightmares for many years. Dad beat her, he raped her, when she was left lifeless, he came after us; I always stepped up to protect my brothers and sisters, taking the blows and enduring his rage. For many years until one day, my brother, my dear sweet wee Cathal, tried to stop Dad, a wee bit of a lad with the heart of a lion. He grabbed a candlestick and hit our Dad, screaming at him to get off of me. Dad turned around and belted him so hard he fell back and slammed his head on the sink; Cathal died, which destroyed both my Dad and me in different ways."

"Dad left never to come back; I heard he buried himself in the drink, losing my brother wrecked me."

My throat lets out a gasp as I watch my Grandmother's face twist with years of hidden pain, finally coming to the surface. "I never knew Grandmother; I am so sorry; I know how much it hurts to lose a brother."

"I know, my dear, therefore I am telling you this story. We have buried it in the past for far too long. The longer it stays buried, the longer the world forgets about my sweet, funny, adventurous, brave brother. The world should never forget his name, especially not his family; you will be my voice. I shall live on in you; I remember Cathal reading to me a poem he had written one day shortly before his death. It unnerved me at the time how chilling the poem was, way beyond his maturity, it was as if he knew his time was not long for this earth, it's as if he was trying to prepare me."

Perhaps we are not stars.

Those twinkling beams we see above our heads.

Perhaps they are little winks, reminding us of the small lights.

We have lost down here. Perhaps they are the voices, reminding us.

They are not gone. Through us, they shall live on as long as we remember to look above and smile with the love we feel inside our hearts.

These twinkles are just little winks from heaven above reminding us, they have not forgotten us, so we must always remember them.

So if I too shall be called home before I am ready, will I be able to count on you?

Will you be my voice? Will I live on through you?

"Cathal wrote that Nana?"

"Yes Nash, when he was a wee boy he did, and my dear, you have his gift of storytelling, through poems and music, you both do my loves." My grandma squeezes my hand and Nash's; we both smile as we watch her looking outside towards heaven. I wonder if Cathal, my granduncle, who I never got to meet, is with my brothers now. Smiling down upon us, I hope so. I would like to think they are not alone.

"After my Dad left, money became tight, but my Mam picked up and carried on. She refused to let me quit school; she wanted her children to get an education, so we went to school, studied hard, and helped at the pub after school and on weekends. As kids, we were always thinking of alternative ways to help Mam make money; my sister Saoirse thought about honoring Cathal by having us all sing on stage and learn to play instruments. We didn't come from an overly zealous musical family, but we learned, each of us choosing an instrument. I along with my brother Rourke picking the piano, Saoirse chose the drums, Sine, and Catherine Mary learned the guitar, Macha and Aidan the fiddle, and Bodhran. Shane learned the flute, Keir the Sax, Connelly, Rouke and, and I also handled vocals and traditional Irish dance. We performed every Friday through Monday in between serving and helping to seat guests. Within a few months, we were drawing in immense crowds as we improved our skills and started writing songs and choreographing our dances. We did well enough to keep business going throughout our childhood and adolescent years."

"My grades never suffered either Mam made sure of it. She was bound and determined to have her kids go to university, and I did here in the USA, at Vanderbilt University in Nashville. I graduated in 1943 at twenty-one-years of age. A true miracle and celebration for my family, the first to go aboard and study and graduate, I landed a job in Nashville at a small hospital, made loads of friends, dated a few cute lads, and spent nights on the town performing in cafes. The best days of my life hit my ground running. The American people loved us, Irish lasses. It was a different world than what the Irish before my generation experienced. The American people loved our music, and the joy we brought to life, which in history was pretty bleak world war two was in full force, and too many boys who were just shy of their 18th birthdays were being sent home inboxes. People wanted to forget for a little while, so some beer and toe-tapping music became a pass-time."

"Sylvie, Arrow, I first meet your grandfather Tadgh and your great-grandfather Nash in Ryman Auditorium when I was performing a set. In those days, they made the cafe famous by several local radio stations that had hosted the Grand Ole' Opry, which started the spark of the country music scene in Nashville. Tadgh was a soldier serving in the United States Army who was on leave for a few weeks, he and his buddies came to Nashville to unwind, and I caught his eyes. He caught mine. It wasn't anything serious for either of us, just a night to forget and unwind. Between 1910 and the 1960s, premarital sex was becoming more common among women. It was still slightly taboo but not as widely hushed."

"Meeting Tadgh changed my views on so many things. However, I saw a new view of war and the effects it had on young people. I remembered my Dad's experiences and how it changed him and my Mam's. I wanted to do more than simply recall it as part of my history, I wanted to be part of history, the way my great aunts had been in the war for Irish independence, so I enlisted as a nurse. Three months into my tour, and I discovered I was pregnant with your Dad, Zachariah. I never thought I would see his father again until a year after I gave birth, they stationed me in Germany. My little sister Catherine was watching Zach when I worked. At night she attended university for musical studies."

"One day in came Tadgh wounded in battle. I knew he deserved to know the truth, so I told him. A week later, as they released him, he proposed to me, out of obligation, I am sure, but I wanted Zach to have the best life possible, so I said yes. We moved back to Tadg's hometown of Fowlerton after his tour was over."

"We didn't marry for love, but in time, our love grew and flourished Tadgh was an amazing man, gentle, patient, funny, brilliant, hard-working with love for the land, sea, and this country and Ireland. We often visited, especially as the ergonomic stature changed and developed over the years, we both have families still living there, and we wanted our kids to know the history, they came from, and how we helped build this land."

"Tadgh and I taught our kids the meaning of hard work, respect for land, sea, animals, and humans. Folwerton was our home, and we loved it here. Families knew families for generation after generations. Your Dad grew up happy, healthy, adventurous, strong-willed, but with a good heart surrounded by people who knew him since he was a wee baby. Supported him in every outlandish thing he could come up with what he was going to be when he grew up, oh, and did it ever change daily?"

"Oh, Nana, tell us, what did Dad want to do? All he ever talks about is being a soldier." Arrow pokes my ribs, making me laugh, knowing I am as curious as he is. I squeeze his hand, doubting Nana will give us this information but hoping, I see a twinkle in her eyes.

"First your Dad wanted to be Elvis, he thought that man was the king of kings, he uses to shake his little hips curl that lip, and every-time your daddy walked in and out of a room he was always singing, thank, you very much, uh-huh. It drove us nuts, but he was so dang cute, we couldn't help but laugh it off."

Arrow and I both burst out laughing, trying to imagine our father as a child shaking his hips, going thank you very much. It feels incredible to laugh even as I feel tears rolling down. I know for the first time they aren't tears of sadness but joy at our family history stories. My head leans back against the pillow as a coughing spasm comes over me. I can hear the bed shift as Arrow switches places with Nashville to hold me, his hands rubbing my back, helping me cough up the gunk. It felt amazing for a moment to be a regular person to laugh with my family. Of course, CF has to have its voice and remind me, and I am never going to be normal. Leaning back against my brother after the latest coughing fit subsides, I close my eyes, listening to our Grandmother continue her story.

"After the king phrase passed your daddy wanted to train horses he had a gentle touch for animals, all animals loved him, and he learned quickly how to tame the wildest of beasts, but as he grew he realized there isn't much of a demand for horses training in Folwerton, everyone grows up knowing how to tame their own horses, he thought about a career as a vet but couldn't bring himself to endure years of schooling. Then came the football dream. He excelled in the field, was voted homecoming king, most popular QB, had the best scores, and his junior year, he injured his neck, tore his ACL, and that dream ended,"

"In 1963, your Dad graduated high school in the middle of another American war Vietnam. Many of his friends signed up to serve, so your father did as well. He felt it was his duty to give back to this country that has helped give so much to the Irish in the early days of settlement. Your father, along with twenty of his buddies, went overseas. They were told that their mission was to prevent South Vietnam from falling to communism. Very lofty. But the men your daddy led as a young infantry platoon leader and later as a company commander weren't fighting for that mission. Mostly, draftees, they were terrific soldiers. They were fighting, he realized, for each other — to simply survive their year in-country and go home."

"Your Dad was captured, defending his men. He rarely talks about those days Sylvie, Arrow. We never even knew where he was or what had happened. All we knew was that he was missing. For five years, we wondered, and we prayed. We never knew. All I know now is that those prisoners endured unspeakable horror, brutality, and deprivation and saw and experienced things no human should ever witness. The mortality rate was almost 50% — higher even than at the brutal Civil War prisons at Andersonville or Elmira a century earlier."

"Your Dad carried a lot of guilt for many years after. He only opened up to his brother Ryan when he wanted to join the Marines in 2001 after 911. He told Ryan about how he cradled ten dying men in his arms as they breathed their last and spoke of home and family; then he was to bury them in crude graves, marked with stones and bamboo eulogized them with words of sunshine and hope, country and family. The eulogies were for the survivors, of course; they always are."

"On the Fourth of July in five successive years, they sang patriotic songs, but very softly, so their captors couldn't hear the forbidden words, and they cried. One of the boys had a missal issued by the Army, their only book, but their captors had torn out the pages with the American flag and The Star-Spangled Banner."

"At your Dad's release in Hanoi, he was shocked by the hair and dress of the reporters there. Once home, he saw television and movies with frank profanity and sex. He often asked me, Mom, what has happened to my country? Why did we suffer and sacrifice?" "As a mom, I had no answers, and it broke my heart, it angered me, but I understood his pain and confusing; I felt it many times in the second world war when innocent children were held captive and murdered simply for being the wrong religion."

"The Vietnam War, which had about one-fifth of the casualties of World War II but had lasted three times as long, had changed the country as much as the greatest cataclysm in world history. It had changed forever the way we think of our government and ourselves. The country had lost its innocence — and, for a time, its confidence."

"This war, which had such a great impact on your father's life, is a dim memory today. There are 58,000 names on that wall, and it rates but a few pages in a high school history book. I am telling you this not scare you or sadden you but to remind you of who you come from, where we are today because of the sacrifices of your father, his buddies, five of who never made it back to USA soil, of my father, and our fathers and mothers before us. Arrow, I am sharing this to prepare you for what you are about to endure, I know they fight this war for a different reason, but war is war; there will be things you have to do that will make your stomach turn, things you'll never unsee or unhear. I am sure you have seen them as a paramedic Sylvie, and will see much worse in Chicago."

"For years after your Dad struggled with PTSD, he wouldn't see a therapist he felt it was unmanly, Zach thought it meant he was weak, Zach never turned violent towards anyone, but Zach had flashbacks, heard voices, suffered from nightmares, and drank to black it all out, he lost weight wouldn't eat & couldn't sleep. Till one night, it got so bad he tried to take his life."

I feel my heart squeeze at the thought of my Dad being in so much pain that he would try to kill himself; I never knew any of these things, never knew he was captured or tortured or suffered from flashbacks and PTSD. My throat clogs up as I feel my body rock in sobs; Arrow engulfs me into a tight hug, his hands over my head. "I got you; we're in this together." His voice is soft tightened. I can hear the emotion making it nearly impossible for him to speak his thoughts.

"Lucky for us, a woman was passing by the spot where your daddy was attempting to end his life, I will not tell you where or how so do not even ask, the woman who had gone to school with your daddy and known him his whole life. Avery Cara O'Grady stopped and brought out her guitar. She started singing out of nowhere, distracting him; he stopped to turn around and scream at her and was stopped short. Zach hadn't seen Avery since graduation from school. She was a shy-nerdy goody-good girl with thick braids and coke-bottled glasses, who barely rated his attention, but at that moment, he saw a different Avery. He saw a woman who had grown out of her nerdy clothes, into curvy jeans, fitted crop tops with long flowing curly red hair, gone were the glasses, she sang with confidence and had a smile so sweet it melted his every thought."

"You kids know most of the history from there on out. Avery and Zach dated for five-years Avery was attending college to earn her bachelor's degree in music education. Zach was still serving in the military in the Airborne division. They married in 1975 and tried for years to convince settling back here to take over the family farms, they tried IVF, and unprotected sex, they stopped birth control, prayed and prayed, and Lord we all prayed for them to convince. It was something they were unable to achieve. So they started the adoption process, which took forever. Your mom went through hell. She became depressed, suicidal; some days, she couldn't get out of bed or eat, she cried all the time. Your Dad refused to give up, though, and she had saved him when he was at his lowest, so he would do the same; Zach convinced her to get professional help. It was still taboo to talk about but was becoming a little less taboo."

"Eventually, with therapy and medication, Avery started to heal and hope again. In 1988 they heard from an Amish girl in Shipshewana, a town they often sold their homemade goods in that a cousin of hers was set to give birth in Florida, so your parents contacted their agency and got the ball rolling."

"That's how I came into everyone's life, Grandma?"

"Correct Sylvie, a joy and a blessing the first girl in the Brett family in many generations. I know your life has been unfair in many aspects, honey, and believe me, we all hate how this disease has treated you, how it's taken your brothers. But sweetheart CF has made so many advances in even the last few years. A baby born with cystic fibrosis in 2000 has a median life expectancy of over 50 years, as effective treatments and advanced disease management protocols continue to improve patient prospects. This is a remarkable achievement as it comes from a distressingly low base of families having to cope with their children dying way before their 10th birthday in the 1960s when understanding the inherited genetic condition was weak. There is no cure for cystic fibrosis, but successful therapy regimens are available, which combine medication, physiotherapy, exercise, and nutrition. You've made it to twenty-six, doctors didn't think you would live to see fifteen, and here you are, a beautiful, sexy, vibrant, bold, kick-ass woman with a determination and ambition to take on the world. You've never let anyone hold you down, even grandpa Tadgh and I, and believe me, we tried when we use to baby-sit you, and you left us winded and questioning why we volunteered to watch three enteric whippersnappers." Arrow and I laugh. I am so clogged up I snort, which only makes us laugh harder.

"Sparrow and Swayzee wouldn't want you to give up simply because they didn't get to live. If they had one wish, they would want you to honor them, chase your dreams. Your light isn't ready to be dimmed, not yet, so don't give up the fight. You can't live for them. You have to want to live, and you have to want to stay in this fight. But no one can do it alone, nor should they, so I want you to know you're not alone. We have all suffered from depression and anxiety in this family, don't feel ashamed or embarrassed to ask for help."

"I want you to have this sweet-pea." I watch as our Grandmother takes something out of her purse. Her hands shake as she opens my hand and places something cold inside it. Closing my fingers around it, I open my fist to see her wedding ring in my palm. Gasping, I feel my eyes widen, filling with tears. "Grandma, your wedding ring, I can't take this. It's all you have left of Grandfather."

"Nonsense silly child, I have our memories, I have the life we built, the house we made our family and home in, I have our children, I have pictures, I have him always here." she takes our hands and guides them to over her heart. "I carry your grandfather with me every day in my heart and my memories. Goodbye is just a word. I will never say it because my husband is always with me, the way your brothers will always be with you two, carry their names with you, say them in pride, be their voices, the way I was for my brother. Arrow, you will make every man in our family proud by carrying on our family's legacy of serving, and Sylvie, you have shown the Irish fighting spirit every day since birth."

"The world may keep going, but the ones we've lost will never be forgotten or truly gone as long as we remember to say their names. To do this, we must carry on and fight. We can't do that if we are dead, now can we?' "No, grandmother, I can't," I whisper, feeling her arms wrap around my trembling frame. "Good, I am glad you see things my way. I want you always to remember grandmothers are always right when you are in Chicago." "How can I go through when you just reminded me how much our family has done for Folwerton. We built this town. How can I leave?"

"Because staying here isn't your life anymore, you are built for far more diverse things in life, it's not like Chicago is a million miles away sweetheart, you can always come back to visit, and you better. I am too damn old to be traveling, so I expect to see my sweet granddaughter's beautiful face every June at the family reunion BBQ, whenever you can get off for holidays. Arrow is leaving to serve, and you don't see him hesitating."

"He's going to serve not to move away permanently, grandmother." "Sylvie, you're doing the same thing in a way you are serving in a different collaboration as a paramedic. We live in a very different era than any generation before us, and we have the internet, cell phones. We can email, text, facetime. Will keep in constant contact as much as possible."

"You're such a calm Arrow. How do you stay so calm?"

"I learned from the best big sister ever, and if you ever tell anyone, I said that I would deny and deny it till the day I die. But on a serious note, I am deploying earlier than I thought." "Oh, No, how soon! I am not ready to say goodbye."

"Good cause I won't say goodbye; I leave next week. This is why I am here tonight; Jolene is still overseas and won't be back till next year at the earliest. I would ask Mom and Dad to care for Nashville, but I don't think their heads are in the game right now with Sparrow's death. They need time to grieve and heal. So I am asking you to be his guardian. Nash wants to perform, and Evan is booking shows already. You and Evan taught him to play guitar; this seems like fate. So will you do your brother a favor and fight like hell to live, so you can show your nephew how us Brett's conquer the world?"

"Yes, I'll do it, I'll take guardianship of Nash, I am honored Arrow thank you, and I will take your advice Grandmother, and carry my family with me when I go to Chicago. Just promise me you'll be careful and remember you have a family waiting for you to come home Arrow."

"Promise Sylvie, on the land of the brave, and the home of the free, I will come home, there's no place I would rather be than will my family, friends in the land I love, the reason I am going away to protect. I will do my very best to come home safe. Do the same, Sylvie, go out there, kick ass in Chicago, and remember you are loved here in Folwerton."

A/N: Should the next chapter jump to Chicago or should I have a chapter of Sylvie saying goodbye to everyone in Folwerton? Do you all want Matt' and Shay's or just stay with Sylvie?


	4. Firestorm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter contains mature adult sexual themes and descriptions so read with caution. Rated M.

Fandom: Chicago Fire

Title: Half of My Hometown

Chapter 4: Firestorm

P O V: Sylvie Brett

A/N: This chapter contains mature adult sexual themes and descriptions so read with caution. Rated M.

3259 Prince Street, Armour Square

Chicago. IL 60616

Sep 20th, 2014

"First night in Chicago Sylvie, we are young hot and single let's party. Meow."

Evan spins as he holds my hand while we are walking down the street, examining all the choices of bars, clubs. "are we in the mood for dancing, drinking, eating, or a little of each?"

"I'm not hungry at all; how about drinking and dancing, Evan?" "I am always up for dancing sweet-baby, but you need to be careful with the drinking."

"Yes, Mother." rolling my eyes, I groan, muttering as Evan's eyes, a bright neon rainbow club which goes by the name of Hydrate Karaoke Bar. "Let's hit that up, and I bet there are many many options of yummy men in this gorgeous-looking place."

"I'm not looking for love, Evan; I just came to check out the nightlife; we have nothing like this back in Fowlerton."

"I know, darling, I lived there as well sugar-cub; therefore, we need to live, let loose and explore. We are young, beautiful, and fun; this is the last night we have to ourselves before your parents bring Nash down to live. We almost have a lock on an apartment; there's nothing else we can do until we get a place; for now, the motel will have to do."

"Yeah, I know I don't like the idea of not having a place of our own though, I wish the apartment we had put a deposit down on had been available longer; it sucks that I got stuck in the hospital longer than excepted."

"Yeah, honey, it does, but you are stronger now and healthy as you can ever be, and in two days, you start at your new job. You deserve to have some fun; I know that I sure as hell plan to baby-girl after the last few months. I am sick of living a vanilla life; I am here to party and meet some beefcakes."

"Don't give me that look, Sylvie; I know it's hard to hear, but I am not disloyal to Sparrow, honey. I loved your brother fiercely, and I grieve for his loss, but the human spirit thrives on love and being in love."

"Do you remember the first time you experienced love for the first time?"

"Yes, Evan, I do. I felt a surge of intense emotions, happiness, joy, excitement, and nervousness, all caused because my serotonin and dopamine levels were surging. Creating that feel-good feeling we experience when someone causes us to have butterflies in our stomach every time we see or hear from them. I understand everyone grieves; differently; it's just hard to hear you talk about getting it on when my brother was so in love with you."

"I know Sylvie, and I loved him, but Sparrow is gone. God be with him, we are here, and I know your brother would want me to be happy; can you argue with that one, Sylvie?"

"No, I can't. Sparrow was all about being happy and living his best life."

"So let's do this baby-girl."

Two hours later, Evan is spinning on the floor. I sit at the bar I can't shake off this loneliness feeling it's been following me for months; it's difficult or me to make friends even if they talk to me as soon as they find out I have CF, they find an excuse why they can't hang anymore. You would think age would mature people; sometimes age, it doesn't mean shit. I know I should get myself out there since I am the new one, but it's easier said than done. I'm in constant loneliness that accompanies my every waking–and sleeping–hour. It is the loneliness that arrests the blood flowing to and from my heart when I share my deepest feelings, only to have them disregarded, disparaged, or decided so I stop trying to share.

"Another round bartender."

"Name's Jake, and what will it be?"

"Mind Eraser."

"Coming up."

"Hey, free round for everyone! I'm buying it! She said YES!" The young man to my left jumps up from his knees, screaming as his girlfriend twirls the ring he just placed on her finger around; the entire bar cheers raising their glasses. Neon strobe lights swirl over the sea of mixed faces and expressions, all yelling out various phrases. "Congratulations!"

"Best wishes! Yeah, Man!" Everyone pounds him on the back as his cheeks flush and his eyes shimmer a mixture of delight, shock, and wonder, all enthused by the number of drinks they have already served him tonight.

Insane music pumps through the building. It's a typical Friday night in a busy city club old friends slip in among the crowd reuniting with squeals and half armed hugs, kisses on the checks, all while balancing drinks in one hand. Sweaty bodies grind to the beat of the music illuminated by the strobe lights; arms held high as it loses them in the flow of clubbing. The air feels electric smiles and laughter fill the air and squeals. It's wall to wall people; the bouncers aren't kicking anyone out even though the building is over populated.

I feel immense shame for feeling so lonely. I try to ignore it push it aside, but it creeps up as I watch people hugging, dancing, and laughing; I know I should get up, mingle and introduce myself, yet my body remains frozen. My mind is racing with so many thoughts about the choice I made to move here; the voices taunt me. Your stupid for moving here; you'll never make friends. You never make it in a big city, in a busy firehouse. I'm not good enough or lucky enough to pull this fantasy life off this goal is way too hard; what was I thinking? I should give up, go home and settle for small-town life; it's all I'll be ever good enough for in this life.

Life moves so fast; I can't keep up. Life is frantic and uncontrollable; it has been my entire life; why would this be any different? If I were prettier, maybe guys would notice me. I watch as these guys try to pick up these girls who are totally out of their league and keep getting rejected. I feel their pain and offer them a smile, but they don't even glance my way for more than a second. I am that ugly, I guess; I'm not even worthy enough to be attractive enough for the losers with the lame-ass pickup lines. "Uh, people are the worst, they make me…"

"Sick." the voice beside me calls out. I turn to see one of the most handsome and rugged guys; I have ever seen in my life looking my way; his gentleness, even when drunk, touches my soul instantly. His eyes shimmer this gorgeous cyan color I have never ever seen, reflecting in a variety of emotions. The gentle way he speaks to me is what makes my spine shiver in excitement and wonder could this man find me attractive, or is he seriously wasted beyond vision?

"I am so sick of seeing everyone hugging and squealing in this false illusion of love. They'll be in for a wake someday; love fades; it's not forever the way Disney promises. If your lucky, you'll get a glimpse before life rips you to shreds."

"Amen to that, I'll drink to that." Raising my shot glass to meet his, I flash him a smile. "So what brings you out here to this fool's paradise?" Arching his right eyebrow, he glances at me over my skin tingles in stimulation. "I could ask you the same thing, babe." He answers my question first taking a long sip of his drink.

"I came to get rattlebrained, three-sheets to-the-wind, drunk off my ass however you want to say it."

"So we're here for the same reason to forget."

"In that case, babe, can I buy you a drink?"

"I won't argue with that if you let me buy you the next round."

"Sounds like a deal; what would you like?"

"Irish car bomb."

"Six Irish car bombs, please, Jake."

"Coming up, sir."

"So, are you from the neighborhood?"

"Yeah, I just moved here; how long have you lived here?"

"All my life born and raised in Chicago. Why did you move here?"

"Wanted a fresh start. Cheers to fresh starts."

Clicking our glasses, we drown all three of our shots in seconds; the liquid is warm, sharp, burning my throat as it travels down my esophagus. "Where are you from originally?" "Indiana." "Nice, I've never been there, rural or city?" "rural."

"This must be a cultural shock to you." He laughs, motioning his hands around as we look over the sea of dancing and shouting people. "Living in a city is a dream for most young people, yet you look like you would rather be anywhere else."

"Yeah, it's a little overwhelming any tips?"

"Sure, don't drive; try to take the subway or bus because parking is a bitch almost as bitchy as life, traffic is a nightmare."

"Stay away from public bathrooms, save your money cause rent is a bigger bitch than life. Try to get a few roomates."

"If you crave diversity and excitement, check out the nightlife. Be careful, walking alone at night, though. So did you move here alone?"

"No, with a friend, he's somewhere on the dance floor tearing it up."

"He left you alone?" I shrug, "No, I've always been alone; tonight is no different; he's not my bodyguard or boyfriend; Evan has no obligation to entertain me."

"Next round six, 707's Jake!"

"Fresh start huh, something happens in your past you want to forget?"

"If it did, why would I want to be reminded?"

"My bad, sorry, not trying to break down your glass castle."

"Sure sounds like you were; I could ask you the same question; you seem to want to get wasted; you must be on the run from something."

"Loneliness sucks. I mean, I have no one else to blame for pushing my friends away, I have many who care about me, but they can't understand how this feels."

"Jaz, you're here!"

"Yes, I am bitches; now the party can truly get started Fireball whiskey Jake and make it neat."

The woman who Jake called Jaz squeezes between the handsome fellow and me; her perfume lingers in the air and leaves me weakened; it's intense and enchanting; I inhale deeply. "your perfume is amazing." Jaz laughs, flipping back her waist length raven hair over her shoulders, eyeing me. I can feel my cheeks growing a deeper scarlet color, which makes me suddenly all hot and bothered. Jaz is breathtaking in a red and black Satin Wrap Detail Dress, which hugs her body tightly. Laughing, she flashes me a quick smile as she winks. "thank you, my love, it's called Lancôme La Vie est Belle."

"You come here a lot, I assume?"

"When I am in town, yes, the best club on this side of town, however, you are new I can tell, so what's your story?"

"What are you buying?" Jaz laughs, holding her hand up to high-five me. "Well played, Chicana well played. "What does your heart desire?" "Jägermeister neat." "Awesome, a girl who likes it strong my type of woman, alright who's up for a game of Never Have I?"

"Never played it." "Oh, well tonight is a night of firsts, then alright I am down, rules are simple we each take a shot and one of us asks a question such as Never Have I eaten a jalapeno if you haven't eaten one you take a drink. As the questions rise, the number of drinks rise. The first one to get sick or feel like they can't go on loses."

"Are you in?" "I am; what type of alcohol shall we use?" "PB&J shot or Whiskey."

"Let's rotate."

"Perfect your idea Jaz, you ask the first question."

"Never have I kissed someone of the same sex."

I drink and notice the guy and I are the only ones drinking. Jaz's fingers troll the top of my jawline. "Wanna change that?" I can feel the color deepen in my face. I don't know if it's the alcohol or her perfume, but something makes me feel daring. "Yes, I would like to change that."

Jaz puts one hand on the small of my back and pulls me to her, the other hand went to my ass, which she grabbed and squeezed playfully as our lips come together and we started kissing. This is my first experience kissing a woman, and I can safely say now that kissing a woman is nothing like kissing a man. Jaz is gentler, softer, more comfortable to sink into when I press my body against hers. When we part our lips, I am breathing heavier. I cup my right palm against my cheek; for a minute, I am left speechless shocked that I just did this; a slow smile spreads across my lips. "Wow, I can't believe I did that; you are an amazing kisser."

"So I've been told thank you-you are pretty amazing yourself."

Sitting back on the stool, I take a few deep breaths raising my shot-glass. "Next round on me Jake."

"Never have I sung karaoke."

I and Mr. Handsome both raise a glass. "Want to change that?" absentmindedly, I twirl my hair, battering my eyelashes at Mr. Sulky God, who takes a deep breath, his eyes washing over my body.

"Yeah, what the fuck, why not. I pick the song."

"Fine by me." he extends his hand to mine and helps me off the stool as Jaz yells out. "Yo' Luca, we got a first-time couple wanting to test their vocal choppers. Get that stage-ready, boyyyy!" A couple? My cheeks blush in acute embarrassment as I glance at the guy who rolls his eyes. "Pay little attention to her, and she's wasted."

"You okay with doing this?" "Yeah, I'm walking to the stage, right?" I nod and allow him to help me on to the stage. "Hello there, and what song are we singing?" I watch as the guy whose hand is on the small of my back warm and settled eyes the catalog of songs presented to us. "How about this one?" The guy looks at me, and I nod. Call Me Maybe. "Sure sounds great, I'm not a wonderful singer, so this should be interesting." His laugh makes my color flush deeper. "No worries, the entire club will clear out when I wail. I've been told it resembles a dying skunk who choked on his own stink." The laughter bubbles up inside my stomach. "Well, we shall make a magnificent pair, shouldn't we?" "The best I'll take the first verse, what was your name?"

"Sylvie and that sounds fine." The music starts. I take a deep breath as I watch the dude whose name I never got. His voice shakes as he starts to sing slow, slurring the words he is squinting at trying to read correctly; I know the first four lines are supposed to go something to this effect.

I threw a wish in the well.

Please don't ask me. I'll never tell.

I looked to you as it fell.

And now you're in my way.

Instead, this guy seems to misread all four lines, which end coming out detrimental.

I threw up on the sidewalk.

Don't ask; I don't know why.

I stumbled as I looked up and saw your face.

And now you're standing in my vomit.

I'm laughing so hard I can feel my stomach squeeze. I suddenly have to pee so damn bad I can barely hold it inside. Holding my stomach, I think tears squeeze out from behind my eyelashes; my chest is burning as I cough hard, wheezing, leaving me unable to sing the next verse. He gives me a strange look, which tells me he isn't messing up on purpose either he's blind as a damn bat or incredibly drunk off his ass. Once again, I know the second verse very well since Evan, Sparrow, and I used to dance to this every night when the song first came out, the lyrics are supposed to be.

I trade my soul for a wish.

Pennies and dimes for a kiss

I wasn't looking for this.

But now you're in my way.

This guy, however, somehow reads the lyrics as.

I'm frigging drunk and can't read this damn machine.

Pennies from heaven, oh what the fuck does this say?

I shouldn't have signed up for this shit.

Take this away from me, now before I fall flat on my face.

Okay, so maybe he is doing this on purpose now. I can feel the urine sliding out drip by drip. I have to control myself, so I don't piss myself on this stage in front of this gorgeous man, who makes me laugh harder than I have laughed in my life; taking slow deep breaths, I squeak out the lyrics to the pre-chorus.

Your stare was holding.

Ripped jeans, skin was showin'.

Hot night, the wind was blowin'.

Where you think you're going, baby?

Dancing around a little, I sway my hips, my hand over my stomach as I bump my hip into his he stands there still squinting, trying to read the lyrics. I can tell he's nervous, so I take my hand and grasp his, feeling my skin tingle; his hand is soft but firm inside mine. Looking up at me, I mouth to him to follow my lead; he nods, licking his lips, which look so full, and soft I wonder what it would be like to kiss him.

Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy.

But here's my number, so call me, maybe.

It's hard to look right at you, baby.

As we sing together, our eyes lock, and he smiles, stroking my fingers; our voices grow more robust and louder. He loses some of his earlier slurring and is following my lead with more swagger and confidence.

But here's my number, so call me, maybe.

Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy.

But here's my number, so call me, maybe.

And all the other boys try to chase me.

But here's my number, so call me, maybe.

I want his number suddenly so bad I can't breathe we get through the rest of the song without being booed off stage no one claps, but we get a few whistles and a few asses- slaps as we get off, Jaz waves her scarf over her head.

Sitting back down, we laugh, feeling loosened up as Jaz calls out another question and Jake pours us some whiskey shots. "Never have I lived alone." I am the only one who drinks the liquid makes my stomach twists, and my already filled bladder screams in anger. "I have to pee. I am so sorry." I grab my stomach, and I feel Jaz hold my hand. "Girl, never go to the restrooms alone." She latches onto my arm, helping me navigate through the massive crowd, which is only growing more significant as the hour grows later.

"Never have I used a fake ID." Evan joins the game when we come back; bladders relieved; bottoms up, I think to myself as I drink solo, eyeing Evan. "When did you use a fake ID? We lived in the same town all our lives; we ain't got no clubs there."

"Girl, if you only knew Sparrow and I use to sneak into Indianapolis on weekends when we were in our senior year and hit all the gay clubs. I got some ID's from a friend of a friend's and Sylvie, girl the beefcakes we use to hook up with, oh Girl well you would be flat on the floor if you knew the stories we lived."

I swallow six more shots, thinking of my brother having sex with a stranger gross. I need over six-shots to erase the image of that inside my head. "Never have I lied to my boss." "Never have I had a crush on a teacher." "Never have I had a wet dream of an actor." The questions keep coming, and I occasionally get a few I don't have to drink over, but they're far and few in between; Evan once again checks out after a few questions.

Jaz and I laugh so hard I am afraid I will piss myself again; we're falling off our stools, laughing, cheering and dancing, taking selfies. "Sending this to me ex-girlfriend, the bitch tried to tell me I couldn't go without her, she thinks she's so damn special. Ha, take that!" Each drink offered seems like a better and better idea.

"Rough break up?"

"Uh, the worst to say I was blindsided and heartbroken is an epic understatement. I have never felt so betrayed. It rocked my world, and I'm not sure how to recover; she broke up with me ten months ago she left because she became drained with my depression and PTSD. She moved her stuff out while I was deployed left me a written note explaining that she loved me but thought she needed to do this. She said she needed to know I could take care of myself."

"That this wasn't goodbye and that she would call soon to check on me. I've been back for six months, which I know she knows because I've seen her around town, but she ducks and avoids me at every turn; she hasn't called me. I'm pretty sure she moved on. I saw her holding hands and kissing another woman."

"I'm sorry you had to go through that Jaz, that is a bitch ass move."

"Yeah, it is, and thank you, it's hard enough to be Muslim in America after 911, to be bisexual and in the military, it blows. I can't talk about my breakup or any of my same-sex relationships with my teammates. I mean, I know they accept me, but I can never be truly sure they wouldn't betray me by slipping in front of the wrong person."

"Six Bourbon shots Jake."

"Never Have I kissed over one person in 24 hours." solo drinking is getting boring. I am ashamed at how vanilla my life has been, as Evan would say, so I stumble up the alcohol getting to my head the jokes get funnier. I've become a comedian of epic proportions, and I can flirt with Mr. Handsome and Gloomy, who I've been crushing on. I pull my dress a little lower and push my chest out a little further. I rumple my hand through my hair frequently to draw attention to it; it exposes my lacy bra above the low-cut line of my dress; when I take a step forward, so does he; he's staggering inebriated even more than I am, but he doesn't stop me from invading his space. I'm not much of a seducer, but it appears tonight to be working; his hands are suddenly on my lower back, pushing me back against the bar, his body fully pressed to mine, his bulge is pressed to my lower torso, I can feel how big he is, how strong. Suddenly my entire body feels as if it's on fire.

Our kiss starts slow and timid but quickly becomes heavy and hot; his hands caress my tender skin. I can't stop trembling as his lips press harder into mine; his left-hand slides up to my face cupping my jawline, pushing my face up to his. My knees melt but the bar counter stops me from falling. I can feel the indent it'll leave in my tender flesh come morning. He grabs my shoulders and kisses me again harder. His hand gripping the front of my dress; when I come up for air, his eyes are closed, and his lips still parted, so I press my lips against his once again. I can't get enough of his lips; maybe I am too drunk, perhaps it's because I am trying to make a fresh start, or I am just that wound up I need to let myself go. I don't know what it is, but I can't stop kissing him. I don't want to, even if I don't remember his name.

I know his lips, and it's as if they were made for mine, this time wrapping my arms around him as we try to devour each other. When I stop, I look at him. "I don't want to end this night with just a kiss. Would you like to come home with me, Sylvie?"

"Yes, I would." I can't get anything more out of my mouth; it's suddenly gone dry. I am sweating and shaking in anticipation, fear, and excitement; I've never done anything like this in my life. I know it's a little reckless and maybe even stupid, but I have lost so much time these last few months being sick. I have cried so many tears over Sparrow and the pigs I worked with; I need this tonight. So I won't let anything hold me back.

"Buy you another round?" I nod at his question as Jaz grabs my arm. "Don't leave yet I am only getting started. I could use a friend, and I have so few here. I'm from New York City originally. I only stayed here because of that ex, two more rounds, please, I'm being deployed again soon, I really need this night to relax and forget for a while."

"Of course, Jaz, Thank you for serving our country. To Jaz, everyone be safe and come home."

We raise our glasses, clicking them to Jaz, whose mood has grown somber. I can hear a slight hesitation in her voice; her eyes remind me of Arrow's when I said goodbye to him last month. He had tried to be strong to tell us not to worry, that he would be home after his tour was over, but I saw through his facade. I saw the eight-year-old boy who first learned the brutal reality of farm life when his favorite pet pig Jamal ended up on Sunday's breakfast plate.

I saw Arrow at ten-years-old when his friends were daring him to jump off the high-dive in the summer at the pool. It scared Arrow to death to make the dive but he was even more scared to look like a loser in front of his friends who would all make fun of him.

"Can I get your number Jaz? I would love to get together when you return home."

"I'd like that very much thanks, Sylvie; I hope you get settled and find happiness here, oh and here." Jaz passes something to me under the counter. I feel my hand close in around the object. "It's a condom; you can never be too careful; it sounds like you and Mr. Handsome will have some extracurricular fun tonight." Laughing, I lift my glass as we click. Jaz takes my cell phone and enters her number setting the selfie from earlier as my contact pic, which she then does the same for my cell.

I've waited so long for this.' I sigh and push the man back to his bed, my mouth moving over his fast, wet, and hard before he could reply. I force my tongue between his lips and meet it with his own, wrapping his arms around me to pull my weight onto him. Humming approvingly, as his hands roam down my body to grab my ass, feeling his finger sink into my skin. His junior member throbs underneath his boxers; I roll my hips, whimpering into the kiss; our chins are wet and shining in the low light of his bedroom.

His groans are low and brutal as I trail my kiss down his bare torso; I gasp as I slide his boxers off, and I see the full length even limp; it's impressive. 'Junior needs some attention.' Sitting on the edge of the bed, I pull him close to me, feeling his body shake; his torso is muscular and chiseled. I can tell he is a hard-working physical man, not some slouch who sits behind a desk all day; this man takes pride in his fifteen-inch biceps, his carefully sculptured abs, and calves.

"Before we go any further, what's your name, handsome?" my left hand is ruffling through his thick blond hair, which goes down to his neckline; damn, he looks like a model; his smile leaves me gasping and wheezing in pleasure and chilling thrills. "Matt Casey. Are you sure you're okay with continuing? You had a lot to drink. I want to make sure you don't feel pressured or will do anything you'll regret."

"Thank You, Matt, that's very considerate of you, but I am clear-headed; I want to do this, I need this release. I don't except any strings attached either; if you want to call tomorrow, that would be amazing, but I know you have a busy life, so I understand if you don't have the time."

Matt lifts my chin and smiles as he presses his lips to mine; the kiss is more profound than our previous kisses. While our lips tango, my hands find his junior and stroke him feeling him growing in size with each stroke; his breathing becomes ragged, I feel him shaking as his junior grows to a ridged angle. His lips slide from mine as he groans out long. "Dear God. Sylvie."

Sliding down to my knees, I slide my lips over his shaft, kissing around his groin before I slide my lips over his length. I've never given a BJ in my life, and I have no idea if I am doing a good job or if he's so damn drunk he doesn't care. "Oh god, Sylvie," Matt groans. "That's so good." He pushs his hips forward, eager for more. I swallow nearly his entire length in one go, pleased and shocked, choking as I caress his underside with my tongue. He quivers and groans again.

I can feel that he is completely hard, completely ready. I enjoy giving him oral sex, taking my time drawing out his pleasure until he erupts inside my mouth. I love the taste and the feel of his orgasm, knowing I had done that to him impressed for my first time.

"Ah!" I scream as his hands playfully pick me up, throwing me gently on his bed, crawling on top of my naked and shivering body; his lips attach to my breasts. "I see I got you turned on, baby." His mouth fully engrossed over my swollen left breasts leaves him unable to answer my little tease. I'm amazed that he is finding my small size so enjoyable I've never considered my breasts to be a decent size or even pretty. The way his mouth is licking my nipples, causing them to harden, I can feel the little hairs on my arm standing almost dancing; I relax, feeling a little more confident. It's comforting to know my body is pleasing to Matt or any guy. "you're a great kisser Matt, good you're making me feel so amazing."

My fingers trace his torso up to his chest, kissing his shoulders, nibbling a little on his arm as his teeth sink into my right breast. I scream a little as the pain is intense, but his tongue licks around my breast, which swells in pleasure.

"I love your biceps; nothing turns me on more than a man who takes pride in his body."

"Thank you, Sylvie. Are you okay so far?" "More than okay, I am in heaven."

"Give me a second, Sylvie." Matt gets up and goes over to this stereo, turning it on; the music is soft and sensual, I didn't peg him for a country guy, but his taste relaxes me and makes me feel so aroused. Taking out Jaz's little gift, I hold it up to him. "I want to make love to you, Matt, but I need to be responsible." "Always careful, Sylvie." His lips cover mine passionately, laying on my back, I spread my legs open wider, feeling how wet I already am in between my lower lips. I grit my teeth as I slide my fingers over my clitoris, feeling the slick juice cover my fingers, moaning softly as Matt's eyes look into mine.

"God, you are so beautiful Sylvie, this was supposed to be just a night to forget, but there is no way I will forget you or this night, not as long as I live. You fill me with so much desire; I want to capture this moment in my mind, I want to capture your lips in between mine and God, I want to be inside you so bad. I am so aroused."

"I know, baby, and I want you inside of me, so please don't keep me waiting." Matt lays down on top of my body, his full weight presses against every tender part of my body sending heated-flames blazing over every cell, nerve. He kisses the base of my neck, his hands cup my butt, moving over my hips, past my waist, cupping my breasts, massaging them. He kisses my breasts like they are precious rare pieces of gold.

Dragging my fingernails over his shoulders, down his back, I burrow them into his firm butt. He hisses in the sharp pain. I laugh and kiss his jawline. Releasing my grip, trailing my fingers to his erection, then I grab his length, slipping the condom over him, all my emotions seem to be taken over me as I feel my body shudder.

I brace myself as he pushes the tip past my shaking thighs and touches my outer lower wet lips. "Oh." I moan as I feel him entering me, spreading me, and sliding into the tight entryway; he is so big I can't deny it hurts worse than any other pain I have ever felt in my life. My finger nails dig into his shoulders as tears slide out from my eyes. "God hurts, oh but don't stop..oh, Matt." "Are you sure you're okay? I love how you feel, Sylvie, but I want you to feel pleasure too."

"Just a minute, give me a few minutes." Matt kisses along my sides, leaving the tingling feeling to return, shooting all over my spine, making my body tremble, and my legs relax, which allows him to slide inside of me deeper. "I'm okay; I can continue." "Sure?" I kiss him thoroughly on his lips, which seems to give him the permission he's been waiting for; slowly, he guides himself deeper.

"So big," I mumble into his shoulder, gasping, feeling him stretch me filling me with warmth; after a few minutes, I can feel the pain turning to pleasure, so I rock my hips back and forth to match his strokes feeling him throb inside of me. "You smell so divine, Sylvie." "Thank you, Matt, so do you; god, you feel so good inside of me."

I lean back, closing my eyes, moaning, trying to enjoy every second of Matt being inside of me, feeling his thrusts go deeper inside the room echoes with the sound of our skin slapping together, my wetness amplifying the noise. The sound makes my heart beat faster. 'Take me, Matt, oh god, oh..yes..oh..yes..yes."

Matt lifts my left leg over his shoulder, allowing me to watch as he pumps inside of me and pulls out dripping in my juices, only to slam back inside of me moments later. The pleasure emanated around my lower body and spin my mind to where nothing else matters, bobbing slowly up and down, letting Matt's swollen length rush deep inside my narrow passage. His hands lock onto my waist to keep me steady.

I can't control my vocals anymore; my eyes close as I feel the pleasure overtaking me. I am making noises I have heard no human being make before; I feel as if I am floating above myself. Holding onto him, screaming, feeling his reactions to being embedded so deep inside my tender, hot, pulsating center, his hands dug deep into the bed-sheets.

Along with his grip, he jolts faster in pure pleasure. He pumps into me without breaking his rhythm sweat is dripping down his face as he pants and groans. I wipe his brow dry, kissing along his jawline when I can stop screaming long enough to focus on anything except the amount of pleasure he is bringing me.

I don't want this night to end. I close my eyes, trying to keep every single one of these emotions inside my mind to capture this moment, this bliss, his scent, the feel of his lips, and the racing of my heart. It's not just about how amazing he feels inside me or how his touch leaves my skin feeling like lighting bolts are attacking my nerves.

Tonight is about more being with Matt having him hold me kiss me talk so sweet to me; he brought me back to life. I thought I died internally with my brother's loss. Still, Matt is making me see how beautiful life is he reminds me I am alive and that is a gift.

I grip Matt's arm with my left hand and the sheets with the right as I feel my climax hitting me; there's little time to prepare my entire body shudders as flames of thunder slam into my body, heating me from my head to my toes, my walls tighten as I gasp and cry out in pleasure. Feeling my eyes roll back, the light slapping sound as Matt's thrust in and out is punctuated by our grunts, groans, and moans. "oh baby, oh Matt, God. I can't take it. Oh god, you feel so good."

"Sylvie, I'm so close, so close; thank you for tonight. I needed this. I haven't been myself in months; I needed to be seen, touched, and felt thank you, looking at you, I forget how to breathe, but it's not because of pain; you give me a reason to smile, to remember there's beauty after pain, you're like that rainbow after the rain clouds the one that makes you instantly smile. So beautiful, Sylvie."

"You made me see that I crave touch. I just couldn't imagine being naked with another person besides my ex. And I couldn't imagine anyone else's face above me. Or besides me. Till tonight thank you for bringing me such joy."

Matt's face pushes me over the edge; seeing him utterly vulnerable at that moment drives my arousal even higher, and a massive explosion of pleasure paralyzes me before waves of my orgasm pulsed. Matt continues to pump, wringing every ounce of enjoyment from the act as my hips buckle in unison with his. "Beauty is but a light switch away, Matt, you can't be afraid of flipping the switch; you never know what the darkness hides till you turn on the light."

The second time we make love, it's slower and more sensual. This time I am on top, and I am in control. Matt shows patience holding my butt cheeks as he shows me how to have sex in the face-off position; our hands roam each other's bodies. All night Matt teaches me unique positions, the pretzel dip, G-whiz, which brings me to the edge of fainting from the intense pleasure as his strokes hit my G-spot, rocking me side to side. Roaming his hand over my left breast and squeezing it slightly at the same time causes me to gasp, feeling a tingling sensation move from my nipples down to my clit, making it fill with blood. I happily spread my legs wider and hooked them behind his thighs.

I feel his throbbing member push slowly inside my warm and tight channel. I feel him fill me. I am groaning as he pushes against my g-spot arching my back deeper to feel the pressure right where I need it. I can feel him tighten his muscles in his thigh, pushing even deeper inside. I had never tried this position before; I never thought it was possible. He retreats slightly before going deeper up and inside of my center. My entire body tense and prepare for an orgasm.

"Matt," I gasp. "Please. Touch me."

I reach for his right hand and push it down to my clit.

He seems to understand massaging my clit; all my muscles tighten in my lower body, feeling my inner muscles tighten around his member. I move slightly upwards before sinking back down onto him. I gasp as I feel him push directly at my g-spot for the third time in less than two minutes, coming down harder on him. Matt groans. I can feel something breaking inside of me, something I have never felt ever before in my life. Every gasp brings me closer to finding it only to have him pull out and leave me shaking, wondering where the feeling went and what it was, then he slams back into me again and leaves me floating, gasping, panting, and craving that release.

Suddenly it is as if a flood wave overcame my senses and take control of my limbs, sending them straight into the eye of a tornado that becomes a tsunami. I can't prevent the scream built in the back of my throat as an intense orgasm washes over my entire body. I wipe my mind completely blank; I feel a low awareness in every part of my body, and my breasts ache while my vagina rejoices in being entirely filled with Matt's wonderful organ of pleasure.

"Hold me tonight, Matt, please."

"All night Sylvie. I won't let you go." Laying my head on Matt's chest after we are both exhausted from making love. I close my eyes hearing him laugh as my eyelashes tickle his stomach; his skin is hot the way sand clings to my legs after a summer's day spent lying on the beach almost too hot for a second, my mind screams to pick my head up before I get burned. Still, I am so drained and so damn happy I ignore the voices inside my head, enjoying the feeling of Matt's hands wrestling lightly through my blond curls, hearing his heartbeat slowly respire luring me into a peaceful castle in the cloud.

I needed to lose myself to find myself again, and tonight I lost my senses, I lost control of my emotions and found steadier ground. Life can sometimes cause us to lose control it blazes it's own path and can lead us to view it through rose-colored glasses which in time become distorted, and can leave us blindly stumbling sometimes we need to lose our vision to reopen our eyes and see the beauty, we need to set fire to our forest to stand behind and watch ourselves burn because after the firestorm the rains come and they will wash away the ashes. After the rain the skies open up to bloom the most beautiful rainbow of hope, but we have to be willing to risk being burned to experience the beauty beyond the pain.

I'm glad I allowed myself to fall, because now I know I can rise again, even if I don't know what path life will take me down, I know I can survive, because I can feel my heart starting to heal.


	5. Another Town & Another Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvie comes face to face with the players of 51

Fandom: One Chicago

Title: Half Of My Hometown

Chapter 5: Another Town & Another Fire

P O V: Sylvie Brett

A/N: Changing things up a little, Gabby didn't die in the explosion, neither did Shay. Many cities have houses with more than two paramedics on one shift, so 51 will be one of those houses in this version. Reviews please! TY to anyone who has favored or followed or reviewed. Who is excited for tonight's new episode? I am! Hit me up on twitter so we can chat all things One Chicago.

The Rio Hotel

6155 n. Jersey Ave, Chicago

October 11th, 2014

"Nervous at all, babe?" "Honestly, a little Evan, I can't believe they moved my start date back three weeks; we need the money so bad."

Coughing hard, I spit into the sink as Evan finishes pounding on my back. "Will be fine, Sylvie, relax babe." "How are you still so calm? We're staying in a brothel the cops are literately stationed here it's no place for a kid, hell I am uncomfortable, although that hot Latino cop ain't too hard on the eyes."

"Make no mistake, Sylvie, I ain't happy about it either, but we have a roof over our head that's what is important. We will have to keep our heads up, ears open and make sure Nash doesn't wander out alone. Till we can get our own place, it'll happen. I have a good job at Med, and you are starting your job finally today, And go for that hottie Sylvie, I tried he is straight as I am gay."

Stripping down, I head into the shower to wake up a little it's been weeks, and I haven't heard from Matt; while I am not surprised, I am saddened he was sweet and handsome; it would have been nice to have a friend here in Chicago besides Evan. The water is ice cold making me scream a little in shock. I hear Evan laughing intensely as I jump back to avoid the spray of ice-cold water. No matter how hard I turn the dial to the hot side, the water stays ice cold spraying my entire body in an ice assault. My breasts are incredibly pissed off by the sheer shock of the water; they become very tender to where the water nearly scolds them bringing tears to my eyes at the same time. I suddenly feel very sexual. I can't stop my mind from evoking Matt's memories touching my skin kissing my tender, swollen lips. Matt's eyes remain an enduring memory in my brain damn, those eyes so filled with pleasure and pain they could break a woman's soul.

Matt had left me shivering with those eyes which reflected horrors I wouldn't wish to know. They should have terrified me; those eyes at first glance appeared colder than the fucking freezing icicles stabbing down my spine currently, but they didn't. More than anything, they intrigued me. I didn't want to know what he had seen; we've all seen horrible things in this life. I want to know how it changed him; if those things made him the man he is now; mostly I want his touch on my skin again.

I can picture Matt holding me under the rain or in the shower pressing me against the wall. His smile is dazzling as he stares into my eyes, causing my breath to become labored and raspy. "I want you, Matt, I want you to make love to me, now." in my mind Matt groans loudly. He pushed me back and swiftly grabbed me by the arm, pulling my legs up to wrap around his waist. He captured my lips with his and forcefully stuck his tongue into my mouth; he reached down slid one finger into my soaked center. "You want this, Sylvie?" I could only moan. "You want me to screw your brains out?" All I could do is moan again against his mouth as he slid two fingers inside of me, plunging his fingers into me rapidly, thrusting and pounding as he made love to my mouth with his tongue and his teeth. I gasped suddenly, and he felt my center contract around his fingers as I gushed. "God, your breasts look so fully so perky I want to taste them, lick them."

Matt's mouth covered each one of my breasts, giving them each the attention they deserved; his hands reached up to caress my breasts and bring my peaked nipples to rock hard pebbles. I'm in heaven. I felt passion and arousal. I have never felt beautiful till Matt touched me. Now I am feeling sadness and regret that so much time had passed and Matt hasn't called. I will never know that kind of bliss ever again in my life. I don't want to wake up from this dream; when I do, I know these feelings will end, and I never want them to end.

"Ouch!" the water suddenly spurts to life in scolding hot sprays. I jump back, slamming my back and the back of my head into the wall, which quickly and painfully brings me out of my dream, leaving me shaking in cold waves of despair of what will never become a reality. Matt was a passing phase in my life, a one-night stand. The Chicago winds blew him in my direction for one night and left me standing in the pouring rain alone.

Quickly rinse off the shampoo, I lather in the conditioner, trying to quiet the racing thoughts inside my head; those voices are still there. I am too stupid or weak to make a big city work. I took on too much Nash's future depends on me making this job work. He deserves a friendly neighborhood to grow up in a good school district.

What if my new coworkers hate me? What if they're all guys who think I am too weak or too naïve? Or worse, they're the sexiest pigs? I don't know if I can take another house where everyone views me like a slut. Stepping out of the shower, I hurry to the towel rack to grab a towel, shivering, drying off quickly my breasts are still tender, which worries me; I hope they didn't get scorched from the harsh cold water. "See how amazing you look with a few weeks of food, and rest Sylvie?" Evan's comment makes me snap my head to him as he strolls into the bathroom. "Your face is fuller; you're putting on weight, even your breasts look bigger." "Stop staring at my breasts, pervert." "Please, girl, you ain't got nothing I am interested in."

Leaning against the sink, I take a deep breath to settle myself; God, how am I so tired already? It's not even six am, I let out the breath I was holding and find my makeup; I need to look alive for my first day even if I feel dead as hell. "Aunt Sylvie, I need to pee!" Nash pounds on the door as I finish the art of making death look viable. "Sorry, Nash." Opening the door, I wrap my towel tighter as I clean up my mess and hurry out of the room. Dressing quickly, I braid my hair and head to the kitchen to grab a piece of toast and take my morning medications. "Remember, if you need your treatments to stop by Med, I can give you a good pounding." Laughing, I kiss Evan's cheek. "I don't think it'll work that way, I have a feeling Chicago will be very busy. I may have to save up for a vest, and I don't know if I'll tell anyone about my CF yet."

"Sylvie, trust your coworkers till they give you a reason not to; you'll need help; no woman is an island; it takes a team to help the victims, and to be a team, you need to trust each other."

Grabbing the pills, I drown them in one take and take a few bites of my toast; my stomach turns mid-bite, though, so I push the plate away. "I'm going to head out. I'm not even sure how to get to 51 yet; the last thing I want to do is to be late on my first day/."

"Nash, I'm leaving be good for Mrs. Cindy. I know things are hard right now; thank you for being so patient with me. I promise I will get things worked out soon so you can start attending school."

Nash comes out of the bathroom smiling at me, rolling his eyes as kids always do when they think someone is silly or melodramatic. "Aunt Sylvie, take a chill pill. I'm a kid I couldn't care less about the school thing. It would thrill me being homeschooling and living that rock-star life."

"You are a hysterical little man, but school is not negotiable. You will attend one."

"Ah, it was an excellent shot anyway, Aunt Sylvie; thanks for listening to me, and quit worrying you'll slay the CFD."

The Chicago weather is as unpredictable as my moods lately. Today, it's raining hard, which isn't helping me forget the image of Matt holding me under the rain or kissing me deeply. Blasting a local country station, I start my google maps and try to find my way to this station. I was there once a few days ago for a test drive when I got my assignment, but I never went inside. It took me four times to find the damn building that day.

Upon entering the house, which I thankfully find the first time, I can hear loud voices rushing around. No one stops to help me, which instantly shakes my nerves. I try to stop three men who are arguing as they pass me, I can't catch the nature of their argument, but it's heated. All I hear are scattered words.

Death

Wizard

Crush

Slam

Revenge

"Uh, excuse me?" no one stops. Still, one man with a mustache points to an office and nods at me, winking he's a little creepy. Hence, I hurry towards the office going inside the common room where one man is half-dead on the couch zoning out to the TV; the only sign of life comes when he dives his hand into a potato chip bag and shoves the chips to his mouth most of them crumble via entry. "Hello?" He remains stoic and never moving.

I keep walking, wondering if he's stoned I pass a woman who is arguing with a man; his face is buried in a newspaper, so I never see it or hear him reply, but she's pissed off her long blond ponytail is swaying as she balances a toddler on her hip. The kid is so adorable substantial blue eyes staring at me, holding a stuffed puppy in his hand; his head is sleepily placed on the woman's shoulder. The kid rocks the blond Mohawk. "I've asked nothing from you, not once since Basil was born, but he is your son, and I need child care, Matt, I am not asking for financial help. I am not asking you to be a damn dad, I just need someone to watch him for a few hours while I go to the doctors." Did she say Matt? No way it couldn't be the same, Matt, calm yourself. Sylvie, Matt is a ubiquitous name; what are the odds that the Matt you made love to is a firefighter? Never mind, at the same station as you are? Besides, he said he wasn't with anyone obliviously this Matt is very much with this woman.

"Sylvie?" I snap in the direction where my name is called to see a tall, handsome African American man calling to me. "Yes, that's me." "Welcome to 51; I am Chief Wallace Boden." I hurry past the two arguing shaking his hand. "Thank you, Chief; I am very excited to be here." "We're happy to have you; we are a hectic house and desperately need a third paramedic you come highly recommended."

"Thank you, I don't know who recommended me, but I am grateful." I follow him into the office, feeling a little less nervous now as he turns to the common room and yells for several people to report into his office.

"Benny Severide told me all about you. He speaks highly of you and your brother; my condolences on your loss, and for the record, no one knows anything about your personal history. Your story is your story to tell. He let me know about your CF but again has assured me it never affects your job performance. I don't foresee it being an issue either; while I am not too familiar with CF, I have spoken to a few doctors who all assure me that as long as you have the initiative to push through, CF won't limit you. I assume since you wanted to be transferred, the initiative factor isn't ever an issue with you."

"No, Sir, I have never held back in anything, and I never give CF the power to hold me down; at least I try not to. I occasionally have rough spells, but I assure you my patients never suffer because of anything personal I have going on; they are always number one. Thank you for keeping my secret, though."

"As they should be, I expect you'll fit very well into the fabric of 51; let me introduce you to your partners."

The door flies open before he can get to it, and two women come in alone with two men; my heart stops when I see, Matt Casey with a haircut, staring at me in shock. "Hey, you must be Sylvie Brett; welcome to 51, I am Gabriela Dawson, and these men are Squad LT Kelly Severide, Truck LT Matthew Casey, and our partner Leslie Shay."

"Aw, hell no, this bitch is our new partner?"

I am taken back by the blond woman's instant attitude, which takes my mind off Matt standing here staring at me so intensely. He's making no motion to show that we have met previously, so I stay quiet, feeling my checks flame in shame. Was I only a one-night stand to him? I know those words left my mouth that I didn't care, but I suddenly care very much, and it hurts. He's been in a relationship with this Shay woman, and he used me to hurt her or get his sexual frustrations out.

"Leslie Elizabeth Shay, apologize to Sylvie this instant. I don't know what the hell crawled up your ass, but you will not show disrespect to anyone ever in this house."

Standing to meet this woman face-to-face, I feel my anger boiling. I have never met this woman, and I will not be disrespectful; if she has a problem with her man stepping out on her, she better addresses it with her man and leaves me the hell out of it.

"I have never you before this moment, Shay, and I have done nothing to disrespect you, so take your damn attitude and shove it. I am here to do a job and only my job. I don't need you to be my best friend, but I need you to be professional. I will respect you. I accept the same courtesy."

Shay shoves me hard; my back hits the wall as I hear Gabby yelling for her, grabbing at Shay, who pushes a cell phone in my face. "This disrespectful enough for you?" The cell is flashing a picture on it, squinting to see the passing image, which flashes on and off as the cell trembles in her fingers. I gasp out loud when I make out that the picture is of myself and Jaz at the bar from a few weeks ago.

"Enough, Shay, whatever your personal issues are, scratch that itch after hours. I except while you three are on duty you will be respectful towards each other, or I promise you the one who starts the drama will be transferred out of this house no questions asked. Am I understood?"

Boden stands in between the two of us, his eyes glaring between us. I can barely swallow as I nod, afraid of not Shay but of being the one transferred. "Gabby, you are PIC you to handle these two, no special treatment to Shay, if she starts drama, we transfer her ass. Am I understood?"

"Copy that chief."

"Ambulance 61 child in distress S. Main Street." The intercom buzzes to life as Gabby throws her arm across my shoulders. "Stick with me, Brett, you'll be fine, don't mind Shay over here; she's a jealous bitch even when she's not bleeding from her vagina."

"Fuck you, Gabby, wait till Matt cheats on you and see how it feels to have someone who you love with your entire heart throw you away."

Shay storms ahead of us, leaving me confused, staring back at Matt, who the hell is this man? A player? Is he with all three of us? Did they have some threesome? What kind of house have I entered? Did I make a mistake leaving Fowlerton? "So Matt, is he your boyfriend or something?" My eyes connect with Matt's, but he looks away quickly.

"Fiancee." Gabby flashes me a beautiful diamond ring grinning so wide she looks stunning I can see how happy she is in an instant. "He asked me this morning; we were going through some rough issues, even broke up for a little while all because I want to join truck and it's causing issues with the higher-ups. We had a close call a few months ago; Shay was injured almost died. It brought home how quickly life can change, so Matt and I have been trying to work things out, it hasn't been easy, but we're getting there."

"That's great, Gabby; I am happy for you; everyone deserves to be happy."

"Thank you, Brett, you seem sweet." Gabby and I climb in the back taking seats as Shay tears out of the station. "So, where are you living?" "Uh, some hotel called The Rio, it's basically a brothel, we're trying to get a lock on an apartment which isn't easy when you have three people."

"Oh hell no, girl, you can't stay there; that place is super sketchy; my brother Antonio is always being called to that hotel; he's a cop."

"Antonio Dawson?"

"Yeah, how do you know him?"

"Um, we met; he is on desk duty a lot there." "Hot, isn't he? I mean, he's my brother, so to me, he's uh, but all the ladies seem to like him." "Yeah, he's great."

"Oh, hell no, you didn't sleep with him, did you? I know that look all the ladies get it when they've been with him." I am at a loss for what to say to her, and I never slept with Antonio. I am not even sure what look she is referring to. "Wow, Sylvie only been in town a few weeks, and you're already sleeping your way through half of Chicago's south side." "Shut-up, Shay."

"Bite me bitch."

"Hey Shay, knock it off, don't take Jaz's leaving out on Sylvie, you've been broken up for over a year, and you left her; what the fuck do you think she's pinning over you a year later? Grow up; you left you had valid reasons. Now accept that choice or go to Jaz while she's still in town and apologize."

"Jaz deployed a few days ago." Shay grunts stepping on the gas pedal, sending me flying back. Gabby reaches out and grabs my arm, smiling sadly at me, holding me tight. "Probably not the best move to piss off our driver, especially when she's hungover."

"Yeah, thanks for that. I'll keep that in mind. So how long have you and Matt been together?"

"Oh, on and off for five years now."

"Wow, so it must be serious then. I mean, it's not some fling."

"No, Matt has my heart and soul."

Shay squeals up to the scene, leaving my head spinning. "Ready for this?" "Can't be worse than being attacked by my brand new partner, so yeah, bring this crazy city on, baby." "Gabby laughs deeply, slapping my back. "I like you already, Brett, and consider yourself home; Matt and I just brought a new house which has extra rooms, you're welcome to have a few. We can discuss rent when you get a few steady paychecks in the bank."

I am speechless by her offer and have no time to say yes or no because Shay yanks open the doors and start tossing gear at both of us. "Try not to kill anyone, new girl." Gabby rolls her eyes and smiles at me, which eases my nerves; at least I have one ally on my back. I make a vow to say nothing to her about my hook up with Matt, at least till I talk to him and see where his head is at with all of this.

An immense crowd has gathered around a field where I see two young boys lying in a pool of blood. "What happened?" Gabby takes charge of the scene, instantly calling out to bystanders who are all recording, but no one helps the victims who lie motionless.

My heart races as I see the pale kids lying there, color seeping out of their faces. Three teenagers are crying as they stand a few inches away. "Brett get the information out of them; Shay treat the kid on the left, I got the right."

Racing over to the calmer of the three teens, I feel my throat swelling with fear; there is so much blood on the ground. Gabby has started CPR on a teen who looks no older than thirteen-years-old. Shay is cutting open the shirt of another kid; blood seeps out of his chest from a bullet wound. "Hey, my name is Sylvie Brett; I am a paramedic with the CFD, we're going to help your friends, but can you tell me what happened?"

Stroking the young girl's face, I wipe her tears away and grab her hand. "I know it scares you, but the more information you can give us, the better we can help your friend and catch the person who did this to them."

"Their brothers, oh my god, are they going to die!" The teenager starts screaming, throwing herself into my arms as I look over my shoulder to see Gabby's strained face turning red as she continues unsuccessfully to perform CPR. Shay has packed the wound on the one kid and attached him to the monitors. "Brett, call a 10-1 and for an additional Ambo."

The first non threatening words she's said to me the entire morning. I listen to her and quickly call it in as she hurries to Gabby to help with the CPR. "Their brother's names are Paul and Gabe Orlando; we were here to attend the LGBT Rally for homeless LGBTQ youth; the center over there wants to kick out any homeless kid who identifies as LGBTQ."

"That shit isn't right; homeless kids need love and shelter regardless of who they hold hands with or share a kiss with; we weren't doing anything wrong it was a peaceful protest. That man..he did this!"

I turn in time to see a man in his mid-twenties racing up to where Gabby and Shay are working on the kid, a gun in his hand pointing right at Shay's head. "No! Shay, watch out!" I react without thinking, pushing the teen off my body and throwing myself over Shay pushing her to the ground; our bodies hit the ground as I hear the shot ring out, and everything fades into one blurry haze.

"We have a strong pulse; hey, welcome back, Sylvie." Bright lights burn my eyes, giving me an instant headache. I can't move even though I try to hands push me back. Looking around, I do not know where I am, which scares me; I can feel my chest tighten my throat feels so dry. "Where am I? What happened?"

"Relax honey, hey, it's Gabby, you got shot on your first call, but you're going to be okay. The bullet went through your shoulder, no major blood loss I got you sealed quickly, brought you to Chicago Med. Through and through wound no infection you'll be fine in a few days, have to wait for Dr. Halstead to come in and say you are ready for discharge, You won't be working for a few days, but what a way to start your career at 51. You saved Shay's life, girl; she owes you now."

Laying back down, I nod even though Shay's the least of my worries. "Is Boden mad?" "Boden?" Gabby arches an eyebrow and laughs. "Girl, please know, he's relieved you are going to be okay and angry at hell at PD for not securing the scene, acutely he thought the entire thing was karma for Shay. He isn't mad at you. He's hella impressed you put yourself on the line for Shay after the greeting she gave to you."

Gabby cranks the bed up and helps me to sip some water, checking my vitals out herself. "Try to rest a little, and I'll go see where Dr... Oh, perfect timing Will." She stops mid-sentence and restarts as an excellent-looking ginger head doctor comes into my room; he rolls his eyes at Gabby but smiles pleasantly. "Glad to see you are awake, Miss. Sylvie. You took quite a blow to that shoulder but lucky for you; Gabby is a one of the CFD's best paramedics; she patched you up and made our job very easy. I'm sure she told you you'd be fine. It hit no major tendons or muscles with minimal bleeding. You and your baby got lucky."

'Wait, I'm sorry what?" I blink a few times, my breath pausing mid exhale. Did I hear him right? "I'm sorry you didn't know? You're pregnant Sylvie, it's early stages yet three weeks at my best guest, but you are pregnant, and your baby is….

Whenever I have fainted in the past, I always feel like I have a fever first, and then I keep getting hotter and hotter until I feel like I will throw up. I feel dizzy, and my vision completely fades to black, but I am still conscious and have complete control over my body. Except I can't speak to tell anyone I am passing out. This time it comes on so suddenly I have no control over my body. I hear myself choking on my vomit, and I hear their panicked voices yelling at each other to turn me over; I feel their hands reaching for me to turn me over. I never stay conscious long enough to know if they get me turned over in time for me to vomit, my hearing fades out, and I am floating somewhere where there is no time or space.

Pregnant god, damn it, life never stops setting my forest on fire. Nope, this bitch known as life she's determined to burn every damn tree down.


End file.
